Silver Fruit Upon Silver Trees

“But it’s ages since I’ve seen you –”

“I’m sorry, Sandra.”

Sandra compressed her lips and looked coldly in Sophie’s direction. “Aren’t you lucky you’re only his niece,” she asked, with scarcely veiled sarcasm. “He’s such a pig where women are concerned, aren’t you, darling?”

Edge ignored her and looked compellingly at Sophie. “Are you ready?”

Sophie nodded. “Yes. One of the bellboys is looking after my suitcase in the foyer.” She spoke quickly, wanting to get away, conscious of the other woman’s humiliation, almost pitying her for it.

“Good. You go ahead. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

As she walked towards the doorway, Sophie heard the brief interchange between them. She heard Sandra’s almost tearful appeals and Edge’s cruel rejection, and then he was beside her, walking carelessly through to the foyer, and when she stole a glance in his direction he seemed totally indifferent to what had just occurred. She shivered. If ever any man spoke to her as Edge had just spoken to Sandra March she felt she would want to curl up and die. And yet Sandra was married. Didn’t her husband mean anything to her?

The bellboy willingly carried Sophie’s suitcase out to where Edge’s car was parked, and Sophie realized why when Edge handed him a five-dollar bill. She wondered whether she should have tipped the boy, but then forgot about it in the other interests of the moment.

Dusk had fallen while they were having their drinks in the bar and now the coolness of evening had a velvety warmth about it. Even the traffic in the busy street seemed to have ebbed somewhat, although there seemed no lessening in the crowds of people thronging into the shops where silver and wood-carvings, Indian silks and Chinese jewellery attracted attention.

Edge’s car was an enormous Mercedes station wagon, sleek and powerful, despite its covering film of dust. He unlocked the passenger side door, threw her case inside on to the back seat, and then indicated that she should get in. Sophie did so willingly. She would be glad to get away from the hotel and all the pitfalls it represented. Edge slammed the door behind her and then walked round the bonnet to climb in beside her. He held on to the roof of the vehicle as he got in, sliding into his seat with lithe, supple movements. He pressed the keys into the ignition, but before starting the motor he said:

“You don’t have to act as if I were some kind of monster, you know. I assure you, Sandra is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

Sophie’s cheeks flamed and she was glad of the shadows in the car to hide them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about –”

“Oh yes, you do.” He adjusted his clothes more comfortably. “I do have some small knowledge of your sex, and I’m quite aware that you feel a certain amount of sympathy for her.”

“It’s nothing to do with me.”

“I agree. It’s not. Nevertheless, save your sympathies for someone who deserves it!”

He flicked the ignition then and the powerful engine roared to life. He turned the wheel with smooth expertise and the large vehicle moved smoothly out of the parking area and into the stream of traffic.

Now Sophie could hear the rhythmic beat of a steel band playing somewhere close at hand, and the pulsating sound caused a sudden and uncontrollable surge of anticipation to run through her body. There was something wholly primitive about that drumming, a wild and stirring penetration of the depths of her consciousness arousing a desire to keep time with the music. She was used to modern music at home, used to moving to the thrumming of electric guitars, but this was different. This was the real thing played by people with generations of African culture behind them. She turned her gaze in Edge St. Vincente’s direction, but he seemed totally unaffected by the sounds that came clearly even over the roar of the traffic. No doubt he had heard it all many times before and it was no novelty to him. But to Sophie it was all new and exciting and for a few moments she forgot that she was the interloper here and sighed in pure enjoyment.

The sound drew Edge’s attention. “You’re tired?” he asked.

Sophie shook her head. “No.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall expressively. “Isn’t that music marvellous?”

Edge’s lips twisted slightly. “I wonder if you’ll be saying that in a few weeks’ time.”

“Why?” Sophie frowned.

“It’s Carnival in three weeks. You’ll hear so much pan you’ll wish it had never been invented.”

“Pan?”

“Sure. That’s the common name for the steel bands. You know the instruments were fashioned out of empty oil drums, don’t you ? Steel pans?”

“Oh, I see.” Sophie was interested. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

“That rather depends on what you find fascinating,” remarked Edge dryly. “I gather you like that kind of music.”

“I like all kinds of music,” retorted Sophie defensively. “Don’t you?”

Edge shrugged. “I’ve no doubt you’ll have more in common with my son in that respect,” he returned, rather sardonically, and Sophie stiffened. His son! Eve hadn’t mentioned that Edge had a son!

And then, unwillingly, she recalled something Sandra March had said and which at the time had made no impression on her. She had asked whether – Piers – knew he had a cousin! Of course. She ought to have realized. If he was Eve’s cousin, he had to be Edge’s son.

She swallowed hard. “Piers?” she managed, rather chokily.

“Yes.” Edge looked her way for a moment. “How old did you say you were?”

“I – I’m twenty – five.” She felt a wave of sweat break out on her forehead. She had almost said twenty-two!

“Twenty-five,” echoed Edge, shaking his head, “You don’t look it.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” She was trying to sound flip, but couldn’t. “H – how old is Piers?”

“Didn’t my father tell you?”

“He – he may have done. I – I’ve forgotten.” That was reasonable, wasn’t it?

“He’s seventeen.”

“Oh, I see.” Sophie bent her head. Seventeen! Only five years younger than she was. So how old did that make this man who was Eve’s uncle? And why was she interested anyway?

Edge swung the car out of the bright lights of the main streets into a shadowy suburb where palm trees looked exotic in the glare of the headlights. They were gradually climbing higher and higher out of the town into the hills around, and glancing back Sophie could see the fairyland of lights spreading out below them. She felt an unwelcome twinge of apprehension. Down in the town she had still felt in a sense in command of her own destiny, capable of escaping back to England and denouncing her position if things got too difficult. But no longer. She was here, she was committed to the role she had agreed to play, and she knew instinctively that Edge St. Vincente would brook no uncertainty on her part. He was not the kind of man to play games with, and if ever he found out that she had been deceiving them ...

The coolness of the breeze through the opened windows of the car had a sea-salt tang about it now. Sophie guessed they were near the sea, but apart from a pale sheen in the moonlight, she could discern nothing. In spite of the difficulties of her position, she found herself eager to see the coastline in daylight. Everything she had seen so far on the island had been almost larger than life in colour and exuberance, and she was convinced the white coral beaches and green surf would be no less exciting. If only she could just think of these things and stop worrying ...

The silence between them stretched and Sophie felt it was up to her to make some effort to break it. Trying to sound casual, she said: “Tell me about – Pointe St. Vincente. Is – is that the name of your father’s house?” Belatedly, she realized that she should have said my grandfather’s house, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Happily, however, Edge seemed not to have observed any slip. “No,” he replied. “Pointe St. Vincente is the name of the peninsula where the house is situated. The house has no name, except perhaps that it’s known locally as the St. Vincente house.”

“It – it sounds wonderful!”

“Does it?” Edge’s lips twisted. “I shouldn’t have thought it would have appealed to you.”

“Why?” Sophie was taken aback.

“Surely it’s obvious. You must have known of our existence for twenty years, but you’ve never made any effort before now to contact us.”

Sophie flushed. “I – I understood my – my grandfather refused to have anything to do with – with my father.”

“So he did. But he would have welcomed some word from you. You are his granddaughter, after all. The innocent party in the affair.”

Sophie moved awkwardly. “I – we never talked about it.”

“Didn’t you?” Edge’s lean hands tightened on the wheel as the road swung sharply round a hairpin bend. “I find that hard to believe.”