Out to sea, beyond the angular pillar of black rock just offshore from which the resort took its name, seven big pleasure yachts were anchored in the lee of the distant western cliff, looking like a flotilla of miniature ocean liners. White hulls reflected sunlight across the water, while in complete contrast the long black windows of the upper decks appeared like rifts torn into deep space. All of them had swept-back triangular solar fins sprouting from the top deck, looking like bizarre mechanical flower petals.
“Oh wow!” Annabelle exclaimed. “They are fabulous. This whole place is utterly fantastic.” She cuddled into him, her arms going around his shoulders. “Thank you so much for bringing me here.”
“Hey, this is just as big a kick for me.” He kissed her.
She gave him a beaming smile again, then turned back to the yachts. “Do you think Stephanie and Sir Mitch own one of those?”
“I don’t know. I expect we’ll see the owners in the bar tonight.”
“Along with Jewel,” Annabelle said coquettishly.
“Oh yes. Her.”
She poked him in the ribs, which turned into a tickling match.
“Maybe the owners never come ashore,” he said after he’d caught her, hugging her to his side. “I wouldn’t. There’s no need.” He regarded the nearest yacht with low-level envy. A diving platform had been lowered down the stern. Two children were splashing about in the water beside it, overseen by a young man standing on the platform. Up at the bow, a couple of crewmen were washing the superstructure with long brushes.
“Yes, you would.” Annabelle smiled knowingly. “You’d be bored out of your skull in a week.”
He grinned back at her.
From the outside their chalet looked as if it was nothing more than an elaborate version of the local Caribbean huts, with a broad palm-thatch veranda extending around three sides. Private stairs zigzagged down the small cliff to the beach. Inside, its Western heritage was more prominent. The walls and floor were polished hardwood. Air conditioning hummed efficiently. Big modern sofas were lined up on either side of the central table. There was a flat five-meter screen on the wall in the main room, with a full datasphere interface via the resort’s own satellite uplink. The master bedroom had a huge four-poster bed with broad mosquito drapes drawn up to the ceiling in an intricate rosette. Even the second bedroom had a double bed.
“So much decadent,” Annabelle murmured as she went on into the marble-tiled bathroom. A huge spa bath occupied one corner, while broad patio windows led to an open-air shower. “Unreal in here, too,” she called out.
Jeff thanked Mr. Sam, and managed to slip the bellboys some U.S. dollar notes. The two of them were left alone in the lounge, with just the sound of the small waves breaking on the promontory rocks outside.
“Now what?” Jeff asked.
“Are you kidding?” Annabelle said as she headed for the bedroom. “That water is so much incredible. I’m straight in.” She started opening cases. “Where’s my swimming gear?”
“You don’t need any,” Jeff said. “The fourth beach is for nude bathing.”
She laughed at him and started to pull off her blouse. It swiftly became a race to see who could get changed first.
Annabelle won, slipping on a yellow string bikini and rushing down the steps to the beach. Jeff hurried after her, wincing as his feet hit the hot sands. Ahead of him, Annabelle dropped her towel and ran straight into the low waves, shrieking with delight.
She’d soon recovered from the shock of Tim finding out about them, probably quicker than Jeff had. After that, it hadn’t taken long to adjust to her new world. Lucy Duke’s campaign to get the public on their side had soon hit its stride with a plethora of invitations to A-list parties and events that were nearly all in aid of some charity or another. He attended dutifully, though Annabelle loved all the tabloid stream attention. They seemed more interested in her than him, which he found quietly amusing.
At first, the trip to America had been a welcome relief from the organized socializing: two days in the relative quiet and calm of Houston, where he’d become the focus of the media again. He played his part stoically, delivering a couple of standard speeches, and attending papers that were of limited use to the superconductor project. He was getting back into the swing of the academic world and its vicious small-minded faction fights with a gratuitous show of enthusiasm. It was there, confined to the convention center, where he’d become uncomfortably aware of people’s attitude toward him. There was never anything said to his face, but their stolen looks kept reminding him of what a drunk Alan had confessed: If I could rip it out of you, I would.
So he was glad when they finally reached Miami, and the surprise present of the holiday he’d booked. Now that they were here on Antigua he couldn’t help but keep congratulating himself. He’d been to the Caribbean once before, for his so-called honeymoon with Sue, but the taste, smell, sight, and sound of the sweltering islands was just a faded and fractured memory. This time the imprint was majestic; the islands were a constant bigger, brighter, and hotter assault on his senses. He was sure that was partly Annabelle’s world-wonder infusing him, allowing him to see everything with the same enthusiasm she did. If that was true, then it was small surprise her cheery nature had returned so strongly in the midst of so much grandeur.
Jeff waded into the deliciously warm sea as she slapped plumes of spray over him. He retaliated, and they began grappling and laughing amid the waves and foam.
42. TROUBLE…
TIM WAS SLIGHTLY SURPRISED his identity smartcard opened the barrier into Tallington Lakes. He must still be listed as a guest of Martin’s parents. He drove carefully around the windsurfing lake, slowing for each of the speed bumps. It was the holiday season, and a lot of people were already out on the water.
This was Tim’s first time out for nearly a fortnight. He’d spent the first week simply hiding in Alison’s spare bedroom. Like her, he was quite content surviving off junk food takeout. The rest of the time he just lounged about watching pre10 movies and rock concerts. His news-snatch program kept pulling out stories of Annabelle and his father at parties and shows. They seemed to have taken up residence in some parallel tabloid universe of showbiz events and society gossip. Annabelle always wore expensive dresses now. She looked fabulous in them.
A couple of times when the Manton estate’s resident committee called round he’d muted the volume so he could listen to the argument Alison had with them on the doorstep. When she came in to talk with him, he simply replied with the words he knew she wanted. He was fortunate that he could claim his withdrawal was all due to the media people encamped outside the gates to the estate. But that was just an excuse, a convenient thing to blame for the way he felt, which was zero.
Nothing in his life had been as good as Annabelle. Being with her had shown him how happy he could be.
But Annabelle was happy. He knew that now. That morning when he got up, the news snatch was holding a report from Antigua filed by Spacewatch but picked up by the English tabloid streams. Tim had watched in growing disbelief as the camera moved through the private beach party thrown by Sir Mitch. The kind of party he had always dreamed of being invited to. People he wanted to meet having a good time and relaxing together.