“And so?” questioned Jemima in her most encouraging manner.
“I’m descended from Lucie Anne — and Sir Valentine, of course.”
Tina returned sweet smile for sweet smile. “I’ve traced that, too, from the church records — not too difficult, given the strength of the church here. Not too difficult for an expert, at all events. Oh, I’ve got all sorts of blood, like most of us round here, including a Spanish grandmother and maybe some French blood, too. But the Archer descent is perfectly straightforward and clear.”
Tina seemed aware that Jemima was gazing at her with respect.
Did she, however, understand the actual tenor of Jemima’s thoughts?
This is a formidable person, Jemima was reflecting. Charming, yes, but formidable. And ruthless, maybe, on occasion. Jemima was also, to be frank, wondering just how she was going to present this sudden change of angle in her program on Megalith Television. On the one hand, it might now be seen as a romantic rags-to-riches story, the discovery of the lost heiress. On the other hand, just supposing Tina Archer was not so much an heiress as an adventuress? In that case, what would Megalith — what did Jemima Shore — make of a bright young woman putting across a load of false history on an innocent old lady? In those circumstances, Jemima could understand how the man by the sunny grave might display his contempt for Tina Archer.
“I met Greg Harrison by the Archer Tomb this morning,” Jemima commented deliberately. “Your ex-husband, I take it.”
“Of course he’s her ex-husband.” It was Miss Izzy who chose to answer. “That no-good. Gregory Harrison has been a no-good since the day he was born. And that sister of his. Drifters. Not a job between them. Sailing. Fishing. As if the world owes them a living.”
“Half sister. Coralie is his half sister. And she works in a hotel boutique.” Tina spoke perfectly equably, but once again Jemima guessed that she was in some way put out. “Greg is the no-good in that family.” For all her calm, there was a hint of suppressed anger in her reference to her former husband. With what bitterness that marriage must have ended!
“No-good, the pair of them. You’re well out of that marriage, Tina dear,” exclaimed Miss Izzy. “And do sit down, child — you’re standing there like some kind of housekeeper. And where is Hazel, anyway? It’s nearly half past five. It’ll begin to get dark soon. We might go down to the terrace to watch the sun sink. Where is Henry?
He ought to be bringing us some punch. The Archer Plantation punch, Miss Shore — wait till you taste it. One secret ingredient, my father always said—”
Miss Izzy was happily returning to the past.
“I’ll get the punch,” said Tina, still on her feet. “Didn’t you say Hazel could have the day off? Her sister is getting married over at Tamarind Creek. Henry has taken her.”
“Then where’s the boy? Where’s what’s-his-name? Little Joseph.”
The old lady was beginning to sound petulant.
“There isn’t a boy any longer,” explained Tina patiently. “Just Hazel and Henry. As for Joseph — well, little Joseph Archer is quite grown up now, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is! I didn’t mean that Joseph — he came to see me the other day. Wasn’t there another boy called Joseph? Perhaps that was before the war. My father had a stable boy—”
“I’ll get the rum punch.” Tina vanished swiftly and gracefully.
“Pretty creature,” murmured Miss Izzy after her. “Archer blood.
It always shows. They do say the best-looking Bo’landers are still called Archer.”
But when Tina returned, the old lady’s mood had changed again.
“I’m cold and damp,” she declared. “I might get a chill sitting here. And soon I’m going to be all alone in the house. I hate being left alone. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve hated being alone.
Everyone knows that. Tina, you have to stay to dinner. Miss Shore, you must stay, too. It’s so lonely here by the sea. What happens if someone breaks in? — Don’t frown, there are plenty of bad people about. That’s one thing that hasn’t gotten better since independence.”
“Of course I’m staying,” replied Tina easily. “I’ve arranged it with Hazel.” Jemima was wondering guiltily if she, too, ought to stay.
But it was the night of her hotel’s weekly party on the beach — barbecue followed by dancing to a steel band. Jemima, who loved to dance in the Northern Hemisphere, was longing to try it here. Dancing under the stars by the sea sounded idyllic. Did Miss Izzy really need extra company? Her eyes met those of Tina Archer across the old lady’s straw-hatted head. Tina shook her head slightly.
After a sip of the famous rum punch — whatever the secret ingredient, it was the strongest she had yet tasted on the island — Jemima was able to make her escape. In any case, the punch was having a manifestly relaxing effect on Miss Izzy herself. She became rapidly quite tipsy and Jemima wondered how long she would actually stay awake. The next time they met must be in the freshness of a morning.
Jemima drove away just as the enormous red sun was rushing down below the horizon. The beat of the waves from the shore pursued her. Archer Plantation House was set in a lonely position on its own spit of land at the end of its own long avenue. She could hardly blame Miss Izzy for not wanting to be abandoned there. Jemima listened to the sound of the waves until the very different noise of the steel band in the next village along the shore took over.
That transferred her thoughts temporarily from recent events at Archer Plantation House to the prospect of her evening ahead. One way or another, for a brief space of time, she would stop thinking altogether about Miss Isabella Archer.
That was because the beach party was at first exactly what Jemima had expected — relaxed, good-natured, and noisy. She found her cares gradually floating away as she danced and danced again with a series of partners, English, American, and Bo’lander, to the beat of the steel band. That rum punch of Miss Izzy’s, with its secret ingredient, must have been lethal because its effects seemed to stay with her for hours. She decided she didn’t even need the generous profferings of the hotel mixture — a good deal weaker than Miss Izzy’s beneath its lavish surface scattering of nutmeg. Others, however, decided that the hotel punch was exactly what they did need.
All in all, it was already a very good party long before the sliver of the new moon became visible over the now-black waters of the Caribbean. Jemima, temporarily alone, tilted back her head as she stood by the lapping waves at the edge of the beach and fixed the moon in her sights.
“You going to wish on that new little moon?” She turned. A tall man — at least a head taller than she was — was standing beside her on the sand. She had not heard him, the gentle noise of the waves masking his approach. For a moment she didn’t recognize Joseph Archer in his loose flowered shirt and long white trousers, so different did he look from the fisherman encountered that noon at the graveside.
In this way it came about that the second part of the beach party was quite unexpected, at least from Jemima’s point of view.
“I ought to wish. I ought to wish to make a good program, I suppose. That would be a good, professional thing to do.”
“Miss Izzy Archer and all that?”
“Miss Izzy, Archer Plantation House, Bow Island — to say nothing of the Archer Tomb, old Sir Valentine, and all that.” She decided not to mention Tina Archer and all that for the time being.
“All that!” He sighed. “Listen, Jemima — it’s good, this band. We’re saying it’s about the best on the island these days. Let’s be dancing, shall we? Then you and me can talk about all that in the morning. In my office, you know.”