Poinciana Road Page 7

  It was lunchtime when they arrived back at Moonglade. “You’re staying for lunch, aren’t you, Blaine?” Robert asked as Blaine was helping him from the Range Rover. He looked at Mallory while he was speaking, obviously expecting her to second the invitation, which of course she did. Blaine hesitated, then when Mallory thought he would decline, he said, “Love to.”

  So that was that.

  Mrs. Rawlings was on hand to greet them. It was obvious to Mallory she had a real affection for her employer. Robert James was equally comfortable with her. It was a heart-warming state of affairs. Not that her uncle wasn’t a lovable man. Mallory had never known a single soul who didn’t like her uncle. Except her father, his own brother.

  Blaine accompanied Robert to his room while Mallory followed the housekeeper into the kitchen. It had been redesigned for a serious cook. Mallory wasn’t. The cabinetry had been replaced. There was an impressive new fridge. Attractive pendant lighting hung from the high ceiling. A tall open dresser held a collection of Worcester dessert services Mallory remembered. It was part of a beautiful nineteenth-century dinner service, green and cream ground with painted flowers. Moonglade had had a long country tradition of hospitality. Uncle Robert had always enjoyed entertaining friends. Like her father, he was a fussy eater. She supposed she was herself, for that matter.

  “So what’s on the menu?” She watched the housekeeper bustling about, a woman in her element.

  “It was going to be roast chicken, but fresh barramundi was delivered this morning.”

  “Sounds great!” Mallory sat down on a kitchen chair. “Do you know there are more chickens on the planet than there are people, so you’ll never run out.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “Indeed I’m not. I’m a mine of trivia. Classical, biblical quotations, chunks of Shakespeare, my favourite poets, Shelley and Keats. All of it learned at my uncle’s knee.”

  A clever middle-aged bookish man tutoring a clever child. Dot Rawlings got the mental picture. “You love your uncle very much.”

  “He’s the perfect uncle.”

  “Mr. Robert told me your sad story. My heart aches for you.”

  “Losing one’s mother is the worst kind of pain,” Mallory said. “Only losing one’s child would topple that. You’ll know my mother and I were out on a shopping trip. It was a sunny Saturday morning. I was wearing a new dress. I thought I looked just beautiful, like my mother. We were so happy. An elderly man lost control of his car and mounted the pavement, ploughing into the shoppers. A man was killed instantly. My mother, acting for all mothers, threw me to safety. I will never forget it. Never in a hundred lifetimes. My father and my uncle were devastated by my mother’s death. Both of them loved her. Uncle Robert took me under his loving protection. My father . . . well, my father had great difficulty looking at me. I’m very like my mother in appearance.”

  Dot was well aware of that. She had seen photographs of the very beautiful Claudia James around the house. “You were a brave child and a brave woman.”

  “And a lucky one to have Uncle Robert.” Mallory sat a moment more and then stood up as if she had lots to do. She could only take so much sympathizing, however kindly.

  * * *

  After lunch Robert retired to his room for “a recharge.” He tired quickly, a man on a physical and emotional seesaw. His heart attack had clearly taken a great deal out of him.

  Mallory had decided she wouldn’t broach the subject of Jason and his family and Jason’s role of running the tropical fruit farm. She guessed Blaine had managed to convey to his friend all was understood and accepted.

  Nevertheless Robert flustered an apology. “I’m so sorry, Mallory, that I didn’t tell you about Jason and his sister.”

  Mallory stopped him from going further. She grasped his hand. “Think no more about it. All that is important is that you get well.”

  “How could I not when you’ll be here with me? You’re the image of Claudia.” His face softened into a dream-like smile. “There hasn’t been a single day in all these years I haven’t thought of her.”

  “I know, Uncle Robert,” Mallory said, her voice sightly strained. Obsession wasn’t good. It was prolonged torture. It prevented one from forging ahead. Her mother’s premature death had brought terrible grief to both brothers in different ways. She knew her father had had women over the years. He was extremely attractive. A lot of dangerous men were.

  When she went back downstairs, she found Blaine waiting for her in the entrance hall. “I’ve got time. What about a tour of the farm?” He was all business and blazing vitality.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll let you do all the talking if we run into the twins. They’re definitely not happy about my staying on.”

  “What’s it got to do with them? The twins have no say.” Blaine’s lucid gaze flicked over her. “I hope you’ve got a wide-brimmed hat with you.”

  She made a tut-tutting sound. “Don’t play big brother. Give me a minute.”

  “You might change your shoes as well.”

  “You can’t contain yourself, can you?” She turned and hurried up the stairs so as not to keep him waiting.

  * * *

  Mallory couldn’t believe how much change had occurred over the years. The estate had always grown avocados, lemons, limes, lychees, passionfruit, pawpaws, pineapples, and bananas. The earth was everything. Growing things. It was wonderful to eat the plantation produce, freshly picked. No shop-bought produce could hope to compare. In the old days a great abundance of fruit had been left to fall to the ground. These days, Moonglade was a thriving business. Moonglade Plantation House now produced a wide range of tropical and ultra-tropical fruits that went by unfamiliar names like keledang, starapple, rambutan, mangosteen, rollinia, abiu, durian, malay apple, sapodilla, carambola, and many more. A lot weren’t at all pretty in appearance like the everyday oranges and lemons. The delicious tasting new varieties had spikes, bumps, and even hair-like strings, off-putting until one actually tasted the fruit and got hooked on the flavour.

  “You won’t see a lot of these in the cities.” Blaine lifted a hand to acknowledge a small group of itinerant workers busy packing exotic fruit into cardboard boxes bearing the logo Moonglade Plantation House.

  Mallory followed suit. She accepted a piece of golden-fleshed fruit from Blaine. He had cut it with the Swiss pocket knife he had in his pocket. It was tart-sweet, the taste somewhere between a mango and a pineapple. She could see it accompanying savoury food or added to a salad for a bit of zing. It was juicy too. A trickle was making its way from her mouth to her chin.

  Blaine put a forefinger to her chin, catching the juice before sliding it into his mouth.

  A blast of excitement shot through her. It was a reaction way too extreme for his casual action. Only it had seemed to her incredibly voluptuous. It wasn’t as if his hand had touched her breast. She would have freaked out. It had to be a side effect of the humid heat. Heat ignited arousal. It spiralled up and up. She knew she was going to have to live with her over-the-top reaction. Possibly for hours.

  God, she thought. This is ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Psychological claustrophobia.

  Mercifully Blaine had moved on, allowing her time to pull a tissue out of the pocket of her linen pants to dab her pulsing mouth.

  They were emerging from the large shed, coming back into the blaze of sunlight. “Where does all the produce go?” she asked, surprised her voice hadn’t squeaked.

  Blaine’s downward gaze was both cool and turbulent. “The bulk goes to the major supermarkets and restaurants here in the North, but supplies are sent regularly south. The estate is managed as an organic permaculture. You’ve seen the sheds. What about a walk through the orchards? Not too hot for you, is it?”

  He had noticed the flush in her cheeks. He would. He always had his reasons. “I’m fine,” she said tartly. He was wearing a dashing wide-brimmed straw hat, compelling her gaze to move back and forth over him. She didn’t ask herself why. Bette
r to shove it in a back compartment along with everything else.

  They walked down corridor after corridor of nutty grass with exotic fruit-bearing trees to either side. The bright colour of the fruit contrasted beautifully with the dark green of the leaves. The wonderfully fertile earth had been turned into a marvellous tropical fruit farm where everything grew. In the wild labyrinth of her childhood, this part of Moonglade had been almost a forest choked with vines, brilliantly coloured butterflies flitting everywhere, a cacophony of bird calls. Always a long muscled snake to watch out for.

  “The Garden of Eden.” Mallory felt in awe of the sheer bounty.

  “It is indeed.”

  Golden shards of sunlight cut through the dense greenery. The strong scent of fruit saturated the air, making it thickly overpowering. The abundant produce was being handpicked by workers, male and female, poised high on ladders. They worked quickly and efficiently, placing the produce into Hessian slings hung around their necks. There was much waving and smiling. One of the men was whistling an Italian folk song she knew. The sound had the purity of a solo flute.

  They were turning into an aisle of heavily bearing passion fruit vines when they caught sight of Jason and Jessica at the far end. Their fair heads were bent so close their foreheads might have been glued together. Each appeared to be drawing on the other’s breath.

  “Let’s turn back.” She had already started to do so. She realized with a start she didn’t want to speak to them. Seeing the two of them together unnerved her.

  “Too late.” Blaine took her arm, compelling her along. “Hansel and Gretel have seen us. Better to get this over, Mallory. You’ll be here for some time. Robert owns Moonglade Plantation House. The twins work for him.”

  “They look like they’re planning on murdering him this very afternoon.”

  “I grant you they’re an odd pair, but I don’t think murder is on their mind. Let’s walk on. You’re never in any peril while I’m around.”

  “Peril? That’s a bit melodramatic!”

  “There was a viper in the Garden of Eden, remember? There are nests of vipers everywhere.”

  They were drawing close to where the twins were standing, lean bodies facing one another. The two had always been excessively needy of one another. “To think all this has happened and I didn’t know a thing about it.” Mallory raised both arms above her head in a graceful arabesque.

  “Well, it wasn’t as though you were a frequent visitor.” Blaine’s attention was claimed by the grace of her willowy body. Mallory had beautiful limbs. Her white camisole was drawn taut against her small, perfectly shaped breasts. For an instant he gave himself up to just staring at her, admiring her loveliness. “Robert owned all this land, as you know, but it was lying unproductive. It made sense to start a business. Tropical fruit gardens are springing up everywhere in the North. We’ve always had our mangoes, pawpaws, coconuts, pineapples, bananas—you name any of the old varieties—but the public and the chefs love new tastes, new flavours. Chefs enjoy mixing the sweet with the sour. The tropical North is just right for the cultivation of most exotic fruits. As I said, I could easily have found a manager for Robert, but clearly Jason Cartwright needed a job with a wife and child to support.”

  “It can’t have been easy for Kathy, flung at breakneck speed into a marriage with Jessica along.”

  Blaine ducked the question. That riled her. She tugged on his arm, slowing his progress. “What I really want to know is why Jessica was given the opportunity to muscle in on her brother’s marriage.”

  He gazed down at her hand. Her beautiful skin glowed against his dark tan.

  Mallory too stared down rather helplessly at their fused hands. She had a powerful urge to entwine her fingers with his. Imagine! She removed her hand quickly, as if skin on skin caused a sizzle.

  “Jason apparently needed her.” Blaine carried on walking. “I can’t think of many businesses in the town falling over themselves to hire her.”

  “She’s her own worst enemy.”

  They reached the twins. The Cartwrights stood facing them. “How’s it going?” Blaine asked, his tone casual.

  They answered as one. “Fine. Fine. Fine.”

  Like spitting out bullets.

  “We’re just deciding when to transplant the young mangosteens.” Jason plucked a reply out of the humid air. “They’ve been in the ground almost four years. They can take a more open position. We’re ready to clear more of the old established areas.”

  “We’re getting busier all the time,” Jessica broke in, as always with aggression. Mallory wasn’t sure if she was even aware of it. “We need more land. The more we grow, the more we’ll be able to supply.”

  Blaine thrust a hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Self-evident, Jessica.” Coolly he turned his head to address Jason. “Where exactly were you thinking?”

  “The old mandarin orchard.” Jason’s eyes had strayed to Mallory and never moved away.

  Many a time they had strolled hand in hand through the old orchard, pausing to pick a succulent piece of fruit. Mallory had no difficulty tuning into Jason’s brain waves. But there was a difference between past and present. Jason was now a married man and the father of a small child.

  She spoke for the first time. “I’m amazed at the transformation. You both must have worked very hard.”

  “You can say that again!” Again the combative tone from Jessica. Mallory watched her place a proprietary hand on her brother’s tanned arm. She radiated a totally inappropriate level of hostility, apparently unconcerned or unaware of it.

  “What exactly does Kathy do?” Mallory asked.

  Jessica gave a hard click of her fingers. “Fuck it!” she exclaimed crudely. “She gets these headaches constantly.”

  Blaine cast a cool silver gaze over her. “I’m not surprised if you use obscenities around her all the time.”

  Jessica’s face reddened unattractively, as did Jason’s at the reprimand. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jessica said, hammering the word hard.

  “She and Ivy might benefit from a good check-up,” Mallory said. She was beginning to feel very sorry for Kathy.

  “As I’ve told you before—” Jessica began hotly, but Jason gave her a quick warning glance. Mallory was their employer’s niece. Blaine was Blaine Forrester. That said it all.

  “We’ll let you get on with the job.” Blaine’s tone had turned frosty. He did frosty well. “This is Robert’s first day home from hospital so I wouldn’t bother him for a while. Maybe Mallory can pave the way?”

  That suggestion rendered the couple of labourers in the field speechless.

  They walked on in silence, their thoughts in tune. “Now wasn’t that interesting?” said Blaine. “I have the feeling Jessica will say ‘fuck it’ on her death bed.”

  Mallory was barely listening. “A lot of people, even people one doesn’t expect it of, use four-letter words. They get into the habit. Jessica hates me.”

  “And here I was thinking her capacity for friendliness has no equal.”

  “Her hostility is way beyond normal.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me. It’s understandable in a weird kind of way. Her brother loves you. It could even be a kind of balancing act for him.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Mallory rocked to a standstill.

  “Jason is an unhappy man. His marriage hasn’t worked out.”

  “How could it with Jessica around? He’s stuck in a time warp. There can be no place for me in his life. The dirty linen has been washed, dried, folded, and put back in the cupboard. We can’t even resume a friendship. Why all this intensity of feeling? What’s fanning it? I’ve been gone for years.”

  “You more than most people would know a few years can mean nothing. You were going to be married, remember?”

  She laughed. Not a happy sound. “How can I properly understand when I didn’t love him? He loved me. He was the one who suffered. It was my pride that took a king hit. Not my heart. In retrospe
ct, I would have to plead guilty to a kind of dishonesty. I’m just so thankful we didn’t have sex.”

  Blaine gave her a long look. “With anyone else I’d say you were having me on. But you always were paranoid about keeping your space.”

  “Maybe I’m suffering from some as yet unnamed syndrome,” she suggested, looking him right in the eye.

  So many lush scents were suspended in the humid heat they were tickling the membranes of her nose. She was even feeling a little woozy, drunk on sensations.

  “Let’s walk back to the house, shall we?” Blaine said. “It’s very hot in the aisles.”

  “I could do with some of Dot’s icy cold lemonade.”

  “You and Dot get on well?”

  “We’ve had some very harmonious and some very funny conversations covering a range of subjects. The only person we disagree on is you.”

  “I’m sure you said that just to goad me.” He could see the disturbance in her eyes.

  Mallory abandoned herself to the truth. “I have to confess. I did. It’s childish, I know, but I get a lot of satisfaction out of goading you.”

  “Is there any way you can wrap it up?”

  Mallory got herself together. She twisted her mouth down at the corners. “I honestly don’t know, Blaine. The urge goes deep.”

  Chapter Three

  It was almost a week before Mallory was to lay eyes on the young woman who had been instrumental in changing her life. She hadn’t sighted the twins. They must have wanted to steer clear of her. She hadn’t caught sight of Ivy, either, which was a disappointment because she had taken a liking to the little girl. Also she wanted to get to the bottom of Ivy’s recurring poor health. That seemed to her of the utmost importance. She had to know. She had to find solutions. It was bred in the bone.

  It might have taken much longer to come face-to-face with Ivy’s reclusive young mother, only Mallory walked into the kitchen earlier than usual one morning to confront Kathy Cartwright, fragrant basket of herbs in hand, moving quickly to the back door that opened onto Dot’s splendid kitchen garden.

  Dot looked up in surprise, flustered by Mallory’s early entry, while Kathy stood rooted to the spot like a wallaby caught in a Land Rover’s headlights.