Deadly Deceit (3 page)

He must have been aware of her eyes on him, because he looked over and flashed her a smile.

It was such a warm smile that it deserved one in return.

As soon as the door opened, Big Shot stood up and pushed through it. A crush to get through after him followed. Jess went out last. She was in no rush. At least the plane had two propellers, she thought, as she climbed the small portable steps and entered the cabin. The pilot and co-pilot sat up front, with no door to shield them from the passengers. Jess couldn’t stand up straight, because there wasn’t enough head room. With only a single seat on either side of the aisle, and a row of three across the back, there couldn’t have been more than 24 seats in all. She looked at the number on her boarding card, then at the seat. Who should be sitting in it, but Big Shot? He averted his eyes. He had no intention of moving.

“Sit anywhere,” the pilot shouted to her over his shoulder.

The only spare seat left was in the middle of the back row. Bent over double, she walked to the back and sat down between two burly men. With no arm-rests dividing the seats, their fleshy hips pressed against her. The heat radiating from their bodies made her feel uncomfortable, and she perched on the edge of the seat. No wonder everyone had stampeded to get onto the plane, she thought. And now she knew the ropes, she wouldn’t get the worst seat again either.

The pilot taxied over to the single runway, swung onto it, and stepped on the gas in a running start. Jess wondered, heart in mouth, if they’d ever get off the ground with all the weight on board. But they were soon rising above stunning, white sandy beaches and aquamarine sea, in brilliant sunshine. She forgot about being squashed in the middle, because it gave her a terrific view out of each side window. She smiled at one of the men sitting next to her.

He just looked out the window.

Why were the Islanders so uncommunicative in this Territory, she wondered? No-one had spoken to her, or even looked her in the eye, since she’d arrived, except Blond Ponytail. She could see him now sitting towards the front, reading a newspaper. All the American tourists seemed to have been left behind in Provo.

She peered out the windows again. Blue sea shimmered all around, and merged on the horizon with crystalline sky. White foam swirled over coral reefs, as waves crashed onto them. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.

According to the brief London had sent her, the islands were surrounded by the third largest coral reef system in the world. So it wasn’t surprising, over the centuries, that many ships had ended up in a watery grave close to these shores. That’s how the islands had come to be populated by people of African descent. Some had been slaves who survived those shipwrecks. Others had been slaves of American Royalists who had come down to the islands after the American War of Independence to set up cotton and tobacco plantations.

Jess wondered if the islanders’ demeanour could be a consequence of their ancestors’ grim experience of slavery? Or of the trauma of being ship-wrecked? Could experiences like that be passed genetically through generations? Or maybe living in an isolated society in the middle of the North Atlantic just made them subdued and wary of foreigners? They could hardly like having a British colonial government either, except they had voted to keep it.

Only then did it occur to her that she hadn’t noticed anything British about the Territory. Had there been a Union Jack flying at Provo airport? She couldn’t remember seeing one. The Oprah Winfrey Show had beamed out of the terminal TV. And people spoke with a slight American accent, rather than a British one.

All very puzzling.

As Jess sat there, uncomfortably considering her first impressions of the Turks and Caicos, Big Shot turned round and gave her a penetrating stare. It was as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind. He didn’t smile or acknowledge her, so she didn’t respond either. She was already getting the hang of this.

At that moment a more sinister thought popped into her head. Maybe there was another reason why people didn’t talk to each other here, let alone to strangers. Maybe they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves? Perhaps they were afraid to?

There was no steel band to welcome them when they walked into the Grand Turk domestic terminal, and no holiday feel to the place either. Jess’s flying companions stood silently waiting for their luggage at the single baggage carousel. Miraculously, hers came out first. She hauled it off and walked into the main hallway. She wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee, which was just as well, as there wasn’t one. Hadn’t David Evans said he’d meet her?

After a while, she saw a black limousine draw up outside, and Big Shot get in. She went over to the door and watched the car disappear into the distance with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. He
was
someone important, and she’d just made a terrible first impression.

Too bad, she thought, as she looked again in vain for David. Not that she’d met him. There were just no other white faces in the terminal.

A young man sidled up to her. “Taxi, Miss?” he asked, smiling.

It was the first time any islander had smiled at her since she’d landed in the Territory. His trousers and shirt looked clean and freshly ironed, which she liked. And he didn’t try and grab her suitcase or herd her towards his taxi. She nodded.

He smiled again. “Wait there!”

He crossed the road to the car park in front of the terminal and got into an old Ford, which was covered in fine sand. She was soon to discover that almost everything in the islands was. She started having second thoughts when the old car wouldn’t start. But after the third attempt, it shuddered into life, and he drove over to where she was waiting.

The battered bonnet, and the front number plate hanging off, didn’t fill her with confidence either. But his friendly smile heartened her, and she decided to take a chance.

He jumped out, stashed her suitcase in the boot, and held the passenger door open. “Where are you going, Miss?” he asked as she got in.

“Governor’s Office, please.”

He nodded and ran round to the driver’s seat. He drove along the airport approach road for about 200 yards. At the T-junction, he turned left. Moments later, he swung through an open iron gate, and pulled up outside a small building. “Governor’s Office, Miss,” he said, switching off the engine.

Jess looked at him. She could have walked it in five minutes. That’s when she realised he was no taxi driver at all. Just a local, keen to make a quick buck. Oh well, she thought, at least she’d made it in one piece.

Ahead of her, the building looked more like a white-washed bungalow than an office. The brass plaque, screwed into the wall next to the front door, confirmed it was the Governor’s Office. She tried the handle, but the door was locked. She walked along and peered through one of the windows. Everything was in darkness inside. She looked at her watch: 4.30. Had everyone already gone home?

Wearily, she sat down on the front door step. She’d been travelling all day and now she’d arrived, not only was there no-one to meet her at the airport, the office was closed. But, as she looked up at the huge orange sun hanging low in the sky, and heard the rhythmic sound of waves lapping onto the shore in the distance, she felt entirely calm.

Seeing another set of iron gates further along, she rose, brushed off her trousers, and walked towards them, pulling her suitcase behind her. Although the sun was close to setting, it was still hot on her face. The humidity wrapped around her, and little drops of sweat trickled down her back. She stopped to take off her jacket and tuck it under her arm.

Beyond the gates, a driveway led up to a beautiful old house, standing framed in the late afternoon sunlight. It looked just like one of those old Bermuda-style houses in story books, with a wide verandah and wooden railings on every side. Dotted around the grounds were squat palm trees and low-lying shrubs.

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase again, and set off along the drive. The going was uncomfortable. Sand squeezed through the open toes of her shoes until the soles of her feet felt like they were getting a sand scrub pedicure.

When she reached the house, a sign above the door said:
Trafalgar House
. Beside it stood an old bronze cannon, with its barrel pointing up the drive as if ready to blast any unwanted visitors. Someone had a sense of humour, she thought, as she rang the bell and waited. No reply. She rang again. Where was everyone?

Leaving her suitcase at the door, she walked along the wooden verandah. It led around the side of the house, to a paved courtyard at the back. Party preparations were underway. A trestle table was set with a white tablecloth, and sparkling china and glass. Several bottles of booze were lined up on the bar in the far corner. Everything looked ready, except there was no-one around.

She couldn’t see the sea from the courtyard, but she could hear it. Walking across the back garden towards some scrub-like bushes that seemed to border the property, she peered through a gap, and saw a beautiful, white coral beach, and aquamarine sea.

Mesmerised, she watched the huge sun hover on the horizon before slipping out of sight.

A cry from behind made her jump.

She spun round and saw a plump woman, wearing a domestic uniform and white pinafore staring at her. The woman nervously pushed some stray curly black hairs behind an old-fashioned comb that was keeping her bun in place. “Miss Jessica?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh my goodness.” Tears welled up in the woman’s black eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

Jess was startled.

“Th-the Governor…” The woman fanned herself with her hands as if trying to summon up air to breathe. “He had a car accident this morning.”

“An
accident
?”

The woman buried her head in her hands.

Hearing footsteps running along the verandah, Jess turned to see a man with dishevelled sandy-coloured hair appear. She knew immediately who he was, and held out her hand. “Hello, David?”

He shook her hand, warmly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t at the airport, Jess, I was late getting there.” He sounded breathless from running. “I thought you hadn’t come.”

“I’ve just heard the awful news about the Governor,” she said.

David went over to the woman, who was dabbing her eyes with the edge of her apron, and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This is Maggie,” he said. “The Governor’s housekeeper and cook.”

Jess smiled at Maggie.

David went on. “The Governor’s car ran into a truck early this morning on his way down from the Ridge. He was badly injured and burned. The police took him to the clinic but there wasn’t much they could do without the right medical equipment. He’s been flown to a hospital in Miami.” He gave a sort of sigh as he stopped talking, as if all the air had been sucked out of him.

“Is he going to be all right?” Jess asked, anxiously.

David shrugged. “We don’t know yet.”

“And your mother?” Jess asked, thinking how weighed down with worry he looked.

“Not good.” He looked away, to compose himself. “We were organising a welcoming dinner party for you.” He pointed at the table and preparations. “The Governor wanted to introduce you to a few people before I left in the morning. Maggie’s been cooking all afternoon… I suppose we should have cancelled it really.”

Both he and Maggie looked at her.

Jess could see they were reeling with shock over the Governor’s accident, and didn’t know what to do about the party.

“Are the guests still coming?” she asked.

David nodded. “Just a few expats living here.” He hesitated. “The locals don’t socialise with us much.”

“Is the food all prepared?”

Maggie nodded.

Jess turned to David. “Socialising is probably the last thing you want to do, but shouldn’t we try and carry on as normal? It seems to me that you’ve done everything you can for the Governor. He’s in the US getting the best possible medical treatment. There’s nothing more you can do for him now.”

David nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose London will let me leave in the morning, not now.”

Jess heard the sadness in his voice.

“Trust me, David, you need to be there.” She paused. “Look, I don’t know much about these islands, or our operation here.” The truth was she knew absolutely nothing except what she’d read in the background brief. “But I can tick things over while you’re away. As long as we’re not expecting any crisis.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?”

She nodded. “Why don’t you ring London? Tell them I’ve arrived, and I’m happy to hold the fort while you’re away.”

He looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll talk to them too if you want.”

“And Sally’s here to help you of course,” he said, eagerly.

“Sally?”

“The Governor’s PA.”

“Of course.” Jess knew from the brief the Governor’s PA was the only other UK-based member of staff, although there were several local administrators. “That settles it then.” She smiled at David. “If London are happy, so am I.”

“Thanks, Jess.” He dashed into the house to phone.

When she turned back, Maggie was staring at her wide-eyed. “No, Miss Jessica!” She shook her head. “
No!
”

Jess gave her a reassuring smile. “Now don’t you worry, Maggie. We’ll be fine here on our own, for a while.”

By the time Jess had showered and changed, the darkness of night had swept in. She threw open her bedroom shutters and windows, and looked up at the velvety black sky and bright stars. The sound of the sea lapping onto the shore, and the crickets’ nocturnal song, reminded her just how much she loved the feel of the tropics.

The original plan had been for her to live in David’s house in town while he was away. Now, with the Governor’s accident, David wanted her to stay at the Residence rather than leave it empty. That was fine with her. It would be convenient to have the office at the end of the drive. Anyway, the Residence was a charming old house. It seemed to sigh with age every time she took a step on the waxed floorboards, or turned on a squeaky tap. Even the wardrobe doors groaned when opened, and the dressing table drawers had expanded so much with the humidity she could hardly move them. There was no air conditioning, but that didn’t bother her. The draught from the ceiling fan kept the air moving. A net hanging from the ceiling over her double bed, and fly-screens over the windows, suggested there was a mosquito problem.