Eclipse. Lynne Pemberton

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      Royole led them out on to the terrace, where his girlfriend Caron was browsing through a well-thumbed copy of Vogue. She rose to greet them; a tall, elegant figure swathed in a long off-the-shoulder dress in cream.

      ‘Caron, I’d like you to meet Lord and Lady Frazer-West.’ Royole introduced them formally.

      A warm breeze drifted on to the terrace, stirring the flowers and lifting the hem of Caron’s flimsy dress.

      ‘Delighted to meet you both! Welcome to Coralita Cottage. Royole tells me you were wonderful hosts the other evening, sheltering him from the storm.’

      Her voice, as soft as a caress, had an unusual accent, with only a slight hint of Jamaican intonation, and the hand she held out to them was the colour of dark honey. Her face, especially when she smiled, had an almost feline quality; and her small, even teeth were as white as pure ivory.

      Serena thought she was very beautiful.

      Caron opened her arms and gestured them to sit on the deep cushions that acted as sofas. Sliding into a cushion herself, she curled long, slender legs under her body, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was completely naked under her dress.

      ‘What would you like to drink?’ Royole asked, his voice bubbling with obvious pleasure.

      Serena watched him carefully. He seemed agitated or excited, she couldn’t decide which, and hoped it was the latter. She sat down next to Caron and asked for dry white wine.

      Royole turned to Nicholas, who shrugged and refused the offer.

      ‘Nothing for me, thanks. I’ve got to try and get us back to Mango Bay in one piece. The road was bad enough sober.’

      Nicholas looked stiff and uncomfortable, out of place; like a bit-part actor who’d wandered on to the wrong set. He refused to sit down and, instead, chose to stroll to the far end of the terrace, which was suspended at least twenty foot out from the cliff. He felt slightly dizzy as he looked down to where the Caribbean was breaking below. Suddenly a feeling of vertigo gripped him and, taking a deep breath, he stepped back, almost bumping into Caron who had walked across to join him.

      Silver beads gleamed in her long, black braided hair, and a scent of patchouli clung to her. Her amber eyes held steady as she absorbed every detail of Lord Frazer-West’s aristocratic face; alien in its insipid colouring, yet extremely attractive in contrast to her own.

      His strong chin didn’t fit with the rest of his thin, almost gaunt face; and his brown eyes to her revealed a haunted look. Caron had noticed his eyes as soon as she’d seen him.

      Nicholas Frazer-West was not what he seemed, she decided. There was a hidden depth; the bland surface, a carefully constructed mask to conceal his dark side. She was quite sure of that.

      ‘Do you smoke?’ She offered him the joint she was holding.

      He shook his head. ‘Like I said, I’ve got to drive.’

      Caron insisted. This won’t hurt. It’ll make you relax; might even help you get through the evening.’ She paused. ‘Without it, I fear this may be quite an endurance test for you.’

      Smiling wryly at her perception, he nodded slowly. Several strands of long silky hair fell across him as she placed the cigarette between his lips, a glazed expression on her exotic face.

      Nicholas inhaled deeply. It was strong grass; the smoke burned the back of his throat and his mouth felt dry. She gestured for him to have more.

      ‘I’ll be stoned,’ he warned.

      ‘That’s the general idea.’ Caron laughed; a low, throaty sound.

      ‘Go on, finish it,’ she urged.

      Nicholas nodded and gave her a languid smile, now relishing the attention of this intensely sensual woman. ‘I feel much better already.’

      Caron returned his smile. ‘I thought you might,’ she said, before excusing herself to prepare the finishing touches to their dinner; which she then served on a low table, set with an assortment of chopsticks and hand-painted bowls depicting Oriental scenes.

      One long-stemmed white anthurium decorated the centre of the table, and the wine was served in pink frosted glasses. They ate Akee soufflé followed by three types of local fish: snapper, grunt and butter fish; each one prepared differently, and each with a distinctive flavour. Warm banana bread accompanied two different rice dishes and baked paw-paw with a subtle hint of ginger. It was all delicious.

      Serena struggled with her chopsticks. Royole helped her, and they both laughed as she repeatedly dropped her food.

      Nicholas and Caron giggled during the entire meal, much to Serena’s annoyance; she was pleased when Caron disappeared into the kitchen to collect the dessert and Royole went to open more wine.

      As soon as they were both out of earshot, Serena hissed: ‘You’re being very silly, Nicholas.’

      She had admonished him as a schoolteacher would a child.

      He fixed a comic grin on his face and retorted by sticking out his tongue. ‘I’m enjoying myself. I didn’t want to come here, and now I’m jolly pleased I did, I haven’t had this much fun in ages.’

      ‘You’re stoned, that’s why.’ She was angry and a little confused. This was not quite how she’d imagined the evening would develop.

      ‘Are you having a good time, my darling Serena?’

      He slurred the ‘darling’, and she glared at him as Royole returned, carrying a freshly opened bottle of Chablis and a bottle of local cane rum. He was closely followed by Caron, bearing a tray of china dishes containing fresh mango and papaya soaked in rum and coconut juice.

      ‘Mmm, this mango is wonderful,’ enthused Serena, between mouthfuls of the succulent fruit.

      ‘The entire meal was a triumph,’ Nicholas announced. His eyes firmly fixed on Caron, he raised his glass in a toast. ‘My compliments to the chef.’

      In response, a warm flush crept into Caron’s face, enhancing the lustrous, honey tones of her flawless skin.

      Serena drank silently and looked across at Royole who, to her chagrin, was also looking at his beautiful girlfriend. She stood up and, excusing herself, went to the bathroom. Returning a few moments later, she found Nicholas and Caron curled up together in deep conversation, oblivious to anything but each other.

      Serena joined Royole who was leaning over the side of the terrace, staring out to sea. She stood next to him, studying his profile.

      The incessant whistling of the tree-frogs mingled with Royole’s words, and a scent of jasmine filled the air as he spoke of his surroundings. ‘Quite beautiful, don’t you think?’ he asked, as if he was speaking about his very own piece of heaven on earth. Without waiting for a reply, he went on ‘The West Indies is in my blood. I have this great love for the Caribbean and, of course, a dream.’

      He turned to face her and she was just about to ask him about his dream when something in his expression made her decide to bite back her curiosity.

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