Contents (71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘Kate!’ said Iris, turning. ‘What a nice surprise.’
‘Hiya,’ said Kate, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Are you free later?’
‘Yes! What did you have in mind?’
‘A little break.’
‘Break? What, you mean an excursion? Like the garden centre?’
‘Not exactly. We’re going on holiday.’
‘Holiday?’ repeated Iris, puzzled.
One or two of the other residents, sensing excitement, stopped playing and looked across.
‘You and me. In fact, maybe we should go and pack.’
‘Really? Now? I’m in the middle of a game,’ said Iris, indicating the boules.
‘Yes, but . . . I have a cab booked to take us to the airport in a couple of hours.’
‘Airport?’ Iris clutched her bosom.
Kate lowered her voice. ‘I need you. Please, Iris. Please say you’ll come with me.’
Iris hesitated. ‘How long for?’
‘Only a few days.’
‘So, you’ve already got the tickets,’ said Iris, sternly.
Kate had the grace to look sheepish.
‘Well, you were very sure of yourself, m’lady. How do you know I even have a passport?’
Kate blanched. She hadn’t even stopped to think about that. ‘Are you saying you don’t?’
‘I might have. Just in case I ever decided to go to Spain,’ said Iris wistfully. ‘Anyway, why the urgency to go on holiday?’
‘Why not?’ quipped a resident. A cheer went up as someone’s boule hit the small target ball.
‘I’ll explain as we pack,’ said Kate. ‘So, is it a yes?’
Iris deliberated. ‘OK then. Why not. Where are we going?’
‘Greg gave me tickets to the Bahamas for my birthday.’
Iris’s eyes popped. There were impressed murmurs from the group. ‘We’re going to the Bahamas?’ said Iris.
‘No, I’ve changed them,’ said Kate. ‘We’re going to Anguilla.’
‘Anguilla?’
‘It’s a lesser-known island just north-west of Antigua,’ Kate whispered in her ear.
Iris smiled. ‘I know where it is. It’s also where that company is based, the one you got the email about.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Say no more. Let us pack for our mission.’ And she led the way back across the lawn, Kate at her heels.
FIFTY-FOUR
The monoplane flew low over the Caribbean Sea, and Kate peered out of the window at the palette of aquamarine and turquoise dotted with white yachts, giddy with excitement, nerves and a sense of utter disbelief at where she actually was.
They were flying from Antigua to neighbouring Anguilla. The two pilots had greeted each of the seven passengers with a handshake and a supporting arm and helped them climb aboard, and the same pilots were now keeping up a friendly commentary. Titbits about the island – its serenity, its notoriously beautiful beaches, its gracious and friendly people, and the thriving live music present at many of the island’s eateries, including Anguilla’s famous reggae musician, Bankie Banx – all of which built up the anticipation so that when they were coming to land, both Kate and Iris had a sense they were stepping into paradise.
The pilots gave a warm farewell and said they’d look out for the ‘two English roses’ at Sandy Ground, the island’s ‘entertainment capital’, a bay with half a dozen or so bars and restaurants, mostly right on the beach.