Fire in the Blood

Her room was simply but elegantly furnished, that much she took in at a glance while she was tipping the porter. When he had gone, Nadine left her cases undisturbed but unpacked her small overnight bag, which held night things. Within ten minutes she was in bed, the shutters closed, the room dark, and she fell asleep immediately.

When she woke up she had a headache that was like being assaulted by pneumatic drills. Fumbling for the bedside lamp switch, she sat up, wincing with pain. She felt terrible. Jet-lag? she wondered as she groped for her watch and looked at the time. Four o'clock? Confused, she couldn't work out whether it was morning or afternoon, then realised it was four in the morning, and she had slept for eight hours.

Nadine groaned. F

our in the morning. Everyone else would be asleep. She might as well try to go back to sleep herself. But first she needed to go to the bathroom. She slid out of bed, realised she was sweating, her body not yet accustomed to the different temperature here.

Her en-suite bathroom was all blue and white: the marble floor blue, bright Caribbean blue, with an inset mosaic in front of the bath, a large white dolphin splashing its tail in the blue sea. She was tempted to have a shower, but decided to take some aspirin first and try to get back to sleep.

She lay between sleep and waking for an hour or so, fretting over Sean, then put on the light again and looked around the room, yawning. Her headache had more or less gone, but she still felt distinctly jet-lagged.

She liked the decor of her room: it probably looked even better in sunlight. The marble floors were white, the modern furniture white with gold trimming, a wall-to-wall fitted wardrobe with louvre doors giving plenty of space for her clothes. There were large white stoneware lamps around the room, which was dominated by a kingsize bed, and a vase of vividly coloured flowers she couldn't name stood on a chest of drawers.

It was half-past five now. She got out of bed and tiptoed around, unpacking her clothes and putting them away. When she had finished, she had a refreshing shower, and put on a white towelling robe before opening the shutters on the full-length sliding glass door which made up the wall facing the wardrobe.

A large private balcony ran outside: Nadine opened the door and wandered, barefoot, out into the most beautiful sunrise she had ever seen. It took her breath away. The tender blue sky was streaked with flame and gold, the air was cool, birds were calling in the hotel gardens, their wings flicking as they flew from tree to tree, landing on bougainvillaea bushes, snapping up insects on the vivid flowers. There were smooth green lawns stretching down to a silvery white beach. A sprinkler system was already in operation, spraying the turf with whirling jets of water. Through the trees she glimpsed tennis courts, the blue water of a large, tiled pool in which someone was already swimming.

A swim. That might help her feel more human, and then she could have breakfast.

Five minutes later, Nadine was on her way through the trees to the blue gleam of the pool. By the time she reached it, it was empty. She padded across the marble-tiled surround, dropped her robe on to a lounger, and paused on the edge to dive into the water, which was still a little chill after the night. She swam several lengths, quite fast, then climbed out and put on her robe. It was a good start to the day. She felt much better. In fact, she was starving, so she hurried back to her room, showered again to rinse the chlorine out of her hair, and dressed in a simple yellow sundress, put on white sandals and went in search of a dining-room. Tomorrow she would eat her breakfast on her balcony, she decided, while she watched that miracle of a sunrise again.

She was not the only guest in the large dining- room. A man sat with his back to her behind a potted palm. Nadine hesitated, wondering where to sit, and a waiter arrived, beaming.

'Good morning, ma'am, I am Jacob, your breakfast waiter. Are you alone for breakfast? Would you like a table by a window? Please, sit down, here is a menu. Coffee? Juice? Do you want a cooked breakfast or can I bring you a Continental basket and some fruit?'

He left her reading the large menu while he went to get her a pot of coffee. Nadine enjoyed reading the list of cooked food, but she finally chose a cold meal. The waiter brought her a basket of rolls and breads, and then a bowl full of a mixture of fresh local fruit, some familiar, some she had never seen before. The waiter told her their names. 'This here is naseberry,' he said, pointing to something that looked vaguely like a grey avocado, but had pink flesh. 'This is ackee...' he added, looking at a brilliant scarlet fruit. He broke one open and showed her large, shiny black seeds buried in creamy yellow flesh.

'It looks like scrambled egg!' said Nadine and the waiter nodded.

'It don't taste like it!' He sliced through a round fruit. 'This here is called a star apple.'

'Oh, I've eaten that before, sliced in fruit salads, in England,' said Nadine. 'So that's what it is called—what a lovely name, star apple.'

'Very pretty name, ma'am,' the waiter agreed and left her to enjoy her breakfast while he went to serve some new arrivals, a family: husband, wife and two teenage children all with American accents.

Nadine was feeling much better as she left the dining-room. She looked at her watch and calculated the time in London. She wanted to ring Larry at the office and find out if Sean had shown up yet, but it would be lunchtime in London now, so she would wait a couple of hours.

She consulted the reception clerk about the art classes. 'Mr Haines always gives guests from England a day to recover from the journey before they start classes, madam. Your first class will be at nine o'clock tomorrow, but Mr Haines would like you to join him and your fellow students at a cocktail party this evening, before dinner.'

'Do we dress formally for that?'

'As you choose, madam; there are no rules here. You are on holiday, and we want you to relax and enjoy yourself.' He gave her a glossy brochure. 'All the details are in here.'

Nadine took the brochure back to her room and studied it sitting on her private balcony, watching the blue sky, the blue gleam of the pool, the vividly coloured birds among the lush green palms and bougainvillaea, while she waited to ring London.

She was put through to Larry at once: he sounded very far away and very tired. 'No, we haven't heard a word from him,' he said. 'But I was talking on the phone to an actor in Los Angeles who said he'd seen him there yesterday. I didn't want to start talk so I couldn't be too probing, but I got enough out of the guy to be sure he did see Sean there. So I've got my secretary ringing every good hotel to ask if he's staying there. If he is in LA we'll find him, and when I do I'll kill him for doing this to me!'

'Kill him for me, too,' Nadine said, almost lightheaded with relief for an instant, and then furious with Sean. Typical of him to be so thoughtless, never thinking what his silence might be doing to people who cared about him. He should have known how Larry would worry.

When she had rung off she put on a vivid jade- green all-in-one swimsuit, and over that a filmy multi-coloured beach wrap, then collected a beach- towel, a novel she was reading, her headphones and some tapes, all of which she put into a large wicker basket, and made her way down to the hotel's private beach.

By now other guests were lying on loungers under gold and white striped umbrellas, but there was plenty of room and Nadine was soon stretched out, her skin oiled and glistening, to make sure she didn't overdo the sunbathing, eyes closed, her headphones over her ears, listening to the latest tape of one of her favourite groups. When she was bored with the music she switched it off and listened to the sound of the surf rolling up on the silvery beach, the whisper of the palms, while the sun poured down and made her feel immensely sleepy, in spite of the hours she had slept last night.

That evening she went down to the cocktail party given by Luc Haines, for the members of his art class. There were around a dozen people there; more women than men, noticed Nadine as she hovered by the door.

One of the five men in the room came across to meet her, holding out his hand. 'Hello, I'm Luc Haines.'

'Nadine Carmichael,' she said, shaking hands.