A Caribbean mystery Revisted: A toast to you Mrs. Christie

I stared at the row of tourists spread out before me, broiling in various hues of red to leathery brown in the sun. I was aghast at this self-induced punishment while I, a Caribbean born native, hid myself under a large blue and white resort umbrella. Barbados was beautiful indeed with its creamy luscious sandy beaches and aquamarine sea, but I’d been away for too long.  I panted a little, and looked skyward hoping to spot a rain cloud.  I eyed the free bar and looked longing at the drinks being served, but I was already on the brink of needing the washroom.

“Makes you miss London don’t it?” the woman lying on the beach chair next to me remarked, obviously amused.  I glanced at her noting her youth and bikini. I tried not to compare my post-middle age rolls and folds to her trim figure. I adjusted my flimsy beach wrap which exacerbated my heat situation.

“You wouldn’t think you’d wish for drizzle,” I replied. I sized up the bracelet on her wrist, noting the pale line on her left ring finger and her watch. Good quality and brand name. She was a red head but I suspected this was the result of a dye job. Her coloring was a little too pink for the shade.

“Your accent…?” she hesitated.

“I’m originally from the island but I’ve been in England for about 30 years,” I explained.

“Oh what do you do?” she began to spread sunscreen lotion on her arms. 

I hesitated. A few short years ago I would have rattled off a suitable answer full of strategic omissions. At some point I had lost my urge to hide my failures. Local girl had not made good.

“I was a domestic, then a nanny and now I look after an elderly lady in a small village,” I replied simply.

She smiled politely.

“I have one daughter who I worked like a dog to put through university. She moved to the U.S, got married and I hear from her at Christmas and on my birthday,” I added. I blinked and looked into my plastic glass. The watered down cocktails must have a cumulative effect.

She stared at me with her eyebrows raised. I saw a look of pure misery flit across her eyes and she pursed her lips tightly.

“My husband wants a divorce and is suing for custody of our son. He’s claiming I’m unfit because I’m on anti-depressants,” she said in a trembling voice.

We sat silently, staring at each other perhaps stunned by all the frankness.

On an impulse I took her hand and squeezed it. I was shocked by how cold her fingers were.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much,” she apologized. She turned her head and wiped her eyes.

I let go of her hand.

“Is your son here?” I asked. I was annoyed at myself for getting personal with a complete stranger, and now felt obligated to cheer her up.

She smiled and pointed towards the pool area. I watched as a group of boys about 9 or 10 years old wrestled with a massive inflatable dolphin. I noted with some surprise that the child had the same red hair as his mother. She was natural after all.

A waiter, young and very handsome, came up offering rum punches. I declined but my young companion accepted his wares. I noticed his dark eyes sweep over her figure and the way their fingers met and caressed as she accepted the glass. I sighed but it really wasn’t my business.

My mood dropped even further as I recognized the lean figure now making his way around the pool. I watched with some dread as he approached. He stopped and looked at the boys in the pool. I noted his stiff posture and the displeasure evident on his face.  I had seen that look for the three days I’d been at this resort; the look that curled his lips whenever he saw me, or any other black face amongst the guests. He was from an age when locals could not even walk through the hotel to go to the beach, much less be guests. It was an age I remembered all too clearly. I could still hear my grandmother’s voice in my ears telling me to mind my betters, not to be too up with myself. I set my face as he got closer to our chairs, but inside I cringed and hated myself for it. I was shocked as his dour expression suddenly transformed into one of great delight.  The young woman next to me stood and they embraced.

“This is my father, Miss…oh I’m so sorry I didn’t catch your name?” she laughed and I saw how truly attractive she was, “I’m Jessica and this is my father Terrence Adams, he owns this resort,” she finished.

“Hope Braithwaite,” I said and smiled at them. He looked at some point over my head, and murmured a pleasantry.

“We’ve had this resort for many years, but just finished renovations. Looks marvelous don’t you think?” she gestured over the gleaming white buildings. I agreed dutifully but it was obvious Mr. Adams had no interest in the conversation.

“Who are those boys Jeremy is playing with?” he asked looking at his grandson who was still in the pool.  

Jessica looked at them indulgently, “I think they came down from St. Phillip. They’re very friendly, took to our Jeremy right away.”

I watched Mr. Adams’s eyes narrow as he watched the children play.

“You should be more careful who he associates with,” Adams said gruffly.

I considered continuing my vacation elsewhere but unfortunately didn’t have any more savings to burn through. I had a flashback to being a scrawny, ragged clothed 10 year old on a stretch of the Worthing beach not far from here. I remembered him, yelling at me and the neighborhood kids to get off his property. We ran, terrified of the snarling Alsatian at his side.  Adams was truly odious. A racist relic.       

I got up and excused myself, deciding a dip in the lukewarm sea might help cool me off, physically and emotionally. Jessica said she hoped to see me at dinner and smiled. She really was a nice girl; took after her mother no doubt.

I carefully made my way down a little rocky path to the beach where the waves sighed as they washed the shore. My eyes were dazzled by the glints of sunlight on the wave tips. It was truly a marvelous view.

I found a beach chair that was unoccupied and left my wrap and shades on it. I tried not to feel self conscious in my bath one piece, because after all no one was watching me. But I was wrong about that.

“You want a scuba lesson miss?” A man’s voice startled me and I swung around, holding onto my large sun hat.

It was the young waiter who had served Jessica, now shirtless revealing the chest and abdominal muscles of an ebony statue. I think my mouth gaped a little, because I could taste the salt of the breeze. He smiled, all charm and cheekbones. Those dark almond shaped eyes perused my exposed skin in a way no youth should regard a grandmother.

“I’d be happy to take you out in the deep,” he said.

“What?” I asked sharply.

“For the scuba lesson, I can take you to see the coral out there,” he pointed to an area where the tops of a rocky like formation poked out of the surf. I eyed the distance and decided it was too far for my limited swimming skills.

“Thanks but I’ll just paddle around the shore here,” I said firmly. He pursed his lips at me and grinned.

“Don’t be scared miss; I’ll take good care of you. I’m Tyrone,” his flirting was outrageous. I wondered if it was my cellulite thighs or varicose veins that had drawn him to my side.

Ah, you get paid extra for the lessons, I thought as realization hit me.

“Do all the workers do extras here? You’re a waiter too right?” I asked. The smile slid off his face.

“The salaries real low miss and we still all do double the work. I’m the entertainer for the floor show tonight too,” he said.

“I thought the hotel was doing well? Renovations just done?” I pointed out.

He made a scornful noise.

“Desperate measures. This hotel can’t compete with all the new mega resorts in the other parts of the island. It’s past its prime and Mr. Adams…” he stopped short, seeming to catch himself.

I don’t know if it was growing boredom, or just plain nosiness on my part, but I decided to take the scuba lesson.  It was a stunning world beneath the waves, but I did feel nervous once I spotted some large menacing fish darting in and amongst the coral.

After the lesson, I tipped him in pounds which made him perk up and he promised to save a dance for me later. His brilliant smile did make me feel young again.

I went back to my room, took a shower and then dived between mercifully cool sheets with the air conditioner cranked high. I woke several hours later, freezing. I turned the air con down and dressed in a long blue halter dress for dinner. I put on a little lipstick and ran a brush over my short silver afro. I stared at myself in the mirror, at a pleasant, chubby pensioner, wondering when she had replaced the slim, young version of me.

The sticky heat was only a little less as dusk fell so I headed for the bar, and ordered a drink. I wondered around the pool area, waiting for the dinner buffet hour to begin, and decided to take a little walk along the beach. The palms overhead were quite lovely and I felt the first stirrings of evening breeze.  I paused and watched the sun slip beneath the horizon in a blaze of orange and scarlet. Hunger reminded me that I was going to miss the buffet hour, and I hurried back down the path to the main dining area. A noise, to the left of me in the shadow of one of the buildings caught my attention, and I stopped and peered into a dark walkway. Two people were embracing passionately and I was about to move on when the man lit a cigarette for the woman. The quick flash of flame illuminated her titan colored hair.

Jessica and Tyrone. I wondered if her father knew.

Not my business.

I ate, or over ate, as most of the other diners tended to do. The main entrée of grilled flying fish was excellent but even as a child I just could not like the coocoo. I also indulged in several watered down rum and cokes, and was in a good mood by the time Tyrone and a young lady came on to do the floor show.  They did some traditional folk dancing and then a rather sultry lambada or tango type thing, where their hips and chests ground quite close together. I recognized the young woman as the maid who changed my linens daily, Sheryl. More double duty for the same pay I thought. I watched them closely, and it was obvious to me that these two were not just a couple on the dance floor. Her expression as she stared into his face was of absolute devotion.

A balding burly man in a linen suit caught my eye. He smiled and I nodded. I turned my attention to the dancing but the next thing I knew he had left his table and come up to mine.

“Hello there,” he said. His American accent wasn’t exactly southern, but close enough.  He asked if he could join me and I reluctantly invited him to sit. He introduced himself as Greg.  I wasn’t unfriendly, but I was alone and one did have to be careful.

“They’re really good,” he said indicating the dancing couple, “I’ve seen them at some of the other hotels I’ve stayed at,” he explained.

“Really? I thought they worked here,” I said surprised.

“Oh yes, they’ve been an act for years. The dancing Springers,” he added.

I cocked my head, “They’re…married?”

“Yep. Good looking couple,” he offered to get me a drink, but I suddenly felt as though the evening had lost its savour.   Poor Jessica, going through a nasty divorce and now, perhaps, involved with a married man. It wasn’t- I told myself yet again- my business.

Greg offered to walk me to my room and I allowed him to walk me to my particular building. I said my goodbye on the ground floor. We agreed to meet at breakfast.  I hadn’t planned on making friends on this trip, but after 3 days I had to admit it was a bit lonely. The trouble of being off island for many years, is that one returns to find one’s friends are long gone as well. My closest school mates were all in England too. But we drifted apart as they had become qualified nurses and teachers and I…well I had met a man who did not believe women should have ambition. I had made my bed as my grandmother would say. At least my ingrate daughter had had the opportunities denied to me.

I lay in the bed, my brain too full of alcohol and memories to let me rest, but then I did fall asleep.

I woke up because someone was in my bathroom. My heart slammed against my chest as I registered this. I blinked in confusion. Sunlight streamed across my bed and the person in the bathroom was humming softly. I jerked up and my head threatened to shatter. I tried to calm my breathing as I looked around for anything I could use as a weapon.

Suddenly a head poked out the bathroom door.

“Oh you wake up miss? So sorry to disturb you but you didn’t answer the door so I thought you were already down to breakfast,” Sheryl said.

I let out a long shaky relieved breath.

“You can’t come in when I’m sleeping!” I snapped.  She paused, and I saw the alarm on her face.

“I’m sorry miss, but I did knock, and I have to finish the rooms before noon,” she said in a defensive tone.  I noted the bags under her lovely eyes. She could not have had much sleep after the show last night and was now putting in a full day’s work. I grunted, and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed and got up. She disappeared back into the bathroom

I trundled over to the bathroom door and froze in shock.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

She paused with the toilet brush in hand.

“I’m almost finished miss, please?”

“Are you washing down the bathtub with the toilet brush?” I was horrified.

“Well yes miss. They told us to save on cleaning supplies by washing the toilets, sinks and tubs with the brush and disinfectant,” she had that defensive tone again.

My stomach recoiled in disgust.

“That’s enough, I need to use it,” I said. 

She hesitated and then burst out, “Please don’t report me miss! I’m only doing what Mr. Adams said to do!”

I waved my hand at her and she left the bathroom. I wiped down the seat with soap and toilet paper and resolved to find or buy my own cleaning tools.

When I got out, Sheryl was sitting on my bed crying.

“It’s going to be ok. I won’t complain on you, but you girls really can’t continue such an unhygienic practice,” I warned.

She nodded and I sighed. I fetched some tissue paper for her and she blew her nose.

“I’m so sorry Miss, it’s just I wanted for my husband and I to leave here, and get work at one of the new hotels. And since last year he agreed and now all of a sudden he doesn’t want to leave. I can’t work under that man anymore,” She balled up the tissue in her hands.

I had a flash of understanding.

“That man…you mean Adams? He harasses you doesn’t he?” I said.

She looked angry, “He thinks this place is like his plantation and we all his slaves!”

“Well it’s the 80s my dear,” I said firmly, “You must have some sort of union or association to report him to?”

She looked away from me and fell silent.  I fell silent too. She could report Adams in theory but the reality was that she would lose her job, and possibly be branded a troublemaker and a liar. It was a risk she would have to take. I was enraged at the injustice. I certainly would not be spending another vacation at this resort!

“Talk to your husband,” I urged her, “He should be supporting you.”

She got up, sniffling.

“I’m sorry about everything Miss, please…this is between us,” she said. Her long braids were wrapped up in a bun and her elegant neck made me think of Audrey Hepburn. She looked so young and vulnerable. Sheryl left me, and I got dressed in my swimsuit and beach wrap again.  I also picked up a romance novel I’d been meaning to read, but I doubted I could focus.

I grabbed my hat, while thinking of confronting Adams myself, and opened the door to find the devil incarnate right outside. He was lying on his back on the tiled floor, rheumy grey eyes staring at the stucco ceiling of the hallway. I froze, then quickly went to his side and touched his temple and then neck. He was very cold and as best as I could tell, very dead.