It was infuriating that he could eat so much without putting on an ounce, especially at that hour in the morning, when Nadine never felt hungry; but then he burnt up energy at a terrific rate.
'Oh, there's method in Greg's madness—he likes to co-operate with American TV companies, hoping they'll buy his shows one day. It may have cost him a lot of money but it's seed corn for the future.' Jamie poured himself more of the excellent coffee and added cream. 'Now, what shall we do today? I'm not going home until Monday, and Greg said you were booked in here for several days.'
She nodded. 'I want to look at the shops—Greg said they were fabulous.'
Jamie grimaced. 'Oh, shopping! How boring. Why do women love to do it? That can wait. Come sightseeing with me. I'm longing to see Key West again. I was here years ago and loved it. There is a tedious long drive across the causeway which links all the keys; you can't pass other cars and tend to drive in convoys led by the slowest car—you know what that can be like! But the scenery is breathtaking.'
'I remember a film with Humphrey Bogart in it... and Lauren Bacall, I think... I'm sure it was called Key West, but all I remember of it is storms lashing around a harbour.'
Jamie laughed. 'I know the film you mean. It was called Key Largo, I think. Key West is right at the tip of the archipelago, and it's unique, you'll love it. I've hired a car—no, not the bubblegum limo I met you with at the airport! This is a small Ford and doesn't eat petrol. We'll go right after breakfast, shall we? Meet you in the lobby in half an hour. We'll need to leave early—it's a very long drive, there and back. We'll eat lunch in Key West.'
The drive across the causeway was a long, slow one, as Jamie had warned; but while they drove Nadine was fascinated by the view on either side. Jamie had bought a guidebook and Nadine skimmed through it as they drove.
'There are forty-two islands along the Keys, and forty-two bridges linking each island into the chain. And those strange trees sticking up out of the water are mangroves.. .they have roots like stilts, and sort of float on the water, it says in here—aren't they weird?'
'Look at that—I'm sure it's a brown heron!' Jamie said, staring at a large brown bird nesting on a telegraph pole high above them.
Nadine screwed up her eyes in the fierce sunlight. 'I'm not a bird expert, but it does look sort of heron-like. If it would unfold its legs we could see it better.'
'Audubon, the American bird painter, lived out here for some years,' Jamie casually murmured, 'working on paintings of Florida birds. If we had time we could visit the house where he lived, in Key West.'
Nadine gave Jamie an amused look. 'Is that why you were so set on coming out here? To see Audubon's house?' She knew Jamie was a fanatic about birds and pursued glimpses of them in all the wild places of the countries he visited.
He grinned sideways at her. 'It was one reason, but Key West has a lot more to offer than that. If you like, while I'm visiting the Audubon house you could take a ride on the Conch Train.'
'On the what?'
'It's a tram, more than a train, actually, but they call it the Conch Train,' he said, laughing. 'The local people call themselves Conchs, by the way; after the conch shells, I suppose. You can buy them everywhere in Key West.'
'Don't tell me the Conch Train is shaped like a shell?'
Jamie roared. 'No, that's just the name they give it.'
Once she had seen the Conch Train she had to have a trip on it around the streets of Key West. It was more of a tram than a train, open on all sides, but with a fluttering canopy overhead, making the ride a pleasure on such a hot day, as a little breeze kept fanning Nadine's flushed cheeks.
The driver talked them round the sites of the town as they slowly navigated their ways between the extraordinary houses, most of them frame-built, of painted wood, with wooden painted gingerbread decoration along the gabled roofs, and the balustrades of terraces. The gingerbread had been carved by generations of deep-sea fishermen while they were away for months; it was brought back as a present for their wives when they returned and the wives had competed with each other: each wanting to have the most gingerbread decoration along their houses because it symbolised their husband's love for them.
Jamie and Nadine met up when she got off the Conch Train, and they decided to lunch in Old Mallory Square, choosing local dishes—a delicious chowder made with tomato and sweetcorn, very spicy and hot, locally caught fish steaks served with salad, followed by Key lime pie, which turned out to be yellow rather than green, but, the waiter assured them, was meant to be that colour.
After lunch, they visited Ernest Hemingway's house, stared at what they were assured was original furnishing, and talked about the books he had written during his time there—7o Have and Have Not, and For Whom the Bell Tolls. Then they walked around tracking down the places where various other famous American writers had stayed—the town had obviously been a magnet for
writers—Tennessee Williams, Dos Passos, Robert Frost, all had been drawn there at one time or another. Jamie took photos everywhere they went; he never travelled without his camera.
Before they drove back to Miami they followed the crowds of tourists on to the wooden boardwalk beside the ocean to watch the sun sink below the horizon, colouring the sea and sky with flame. Jamie took lots more photos. He had plenty of material to choose from. There was a carnival atmosphere around them: artists sold their canvases, craftspeople sold jewellery, leatherwork, hand-dyed clothes. Entertainers danced, or sang, or played instruments. There were several mime artists with the traditional white-painted faces in black suits.
Nadine felt pleasantly sleepy as they set off on the journey back to Miami. 'You were right, Key West was fascinating,' she told Jamie, who smiled.
'I'm glad you liked it. Then tomorrow you can do your shopping!'
She was so tired after all the walking they had done in Key West that she fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, and didn't wake up until late next day. She had breakfast with Jamie, who had come down late too, and then they separated— she went shopping, and Jamie went off with his camera to take some pictures.
Next day they both flew back to London on Concorde. The flight took half the time the usual jet took, but they still felt stiff and weary when they arrived.
As they walked through the barrier on their way out to get a taxi, Nadine suddenly saw Sean, in a white jacket, standing among the crowds thronging the barrier, waiting for arriving passengers. You couldn't miss him; his black head showed above those around him, his brooding blue eyes narrowed and angry as he looked from her to Jamie.
Her pulses skipped and she became breathless. What was he doing here? Had he come to meet her? But how would he know which plane she would be on? Maybe Greg Erroll had told him? But maybe he was meeting someone else? Or had he just arrived, himself, from the West Indies? If so, where was his luggage, though?
Her steps slowed, her mouth went dry—he looked so harsh, his mouth set in a forbidding line; she was afraid of facing him.