CHAPTER FOUR

 

“Diana Boyd, you have grown into a doll,” Aunt Phillipa gushed, hugging her grandniece until she could barely breathe. "I missed chatting with you and hearing what's going on in your life."

“That’s what happens to people who refuse to use the computer,” Diana teased her aunt. “I sent out my graduation pictures to all family members via the Internet. I had to mail yours and found out that I had used the wrong address. Who knows who will get the pictures now?”

Phillipa snorted. “I heard that Graham’s boy got a virus from using the computer. They said it was a new age bug. I'll have none of that.”

Diana smiled, trying hard not to laugh out loudly. However, her grandaunt’s driver, Floyd, was not so discreet, and he guffawed. His lanky frame in a too-tight khaki uniform rocked to and fro. He wiped his eyes while Phillipa looked at him with disgust.

“What’s so funny?” Phillipa asked, puzzled. “You should be ashamed of yourself, laughing at the misfortune of that young man. Don’t think I have not seen you with one of those computer things, Floyd. You are trying to bring disease into this house.”

Phillipa sounded so indignant that Diana had to quickly change the subject.

“Er … Aunt P, your house is lovely; you even have a view of the sea. This is great.”

Phillipa smiled. “I inherited the piece of land from your great-grandfather. I had it for ages before I did anything with it and then a hotelier offered to buy it for an exorbitant price. So outrageous was the price I came out here to see what all the fuss was about. I would have slept here under a tent after seeing the spot.”

“I love it,” Diana remarked as she walked over hardwood floors to go stand on the balcony. The two-story house was on a slope and overlooked the azure beauty of the Caribbean Sea that had a gentle wind blowing off it. The day was cool and the trees were green. Diana just felt like screaming “Yeah!” just for the sheer fun of it.

“Floyd, take Diana’s bags to her room, please.”

Floyd nodded and winked at Diana. “I am also the butler and chef, Miss Diana. Anything you would like in particular for dinner?”

Diana smiled. From the moment Floyd picked her up from the airport until they reached Phillipa’s house, he had spoken non-stop about food. She already knew that he had been baking and stewing for most of the morning before he came to pick her up.

“Give me a bit of everything you fried and spiced up,” Diana replied, sinking into one of her aunt’s comfortable-looking chairs with bright-colored cushions artfully scattered across it.

Phillipa sat across from her grandniece. “I’ll show you around as soon as you are ready. I know your flight must have been tiring. What do you want to drink?”

“Some good old-fashioned limeade,” Diana replied with a sigh. “Extra-tart, please.”

Phillipa nodded and headed for the kitchen. “Anything else…sandwiches?” She glanced over her shoulder at Diana. “I know how sparse airline food can be.”

“Yes, please." Diana closed her eyes as soon as Phillipa left and exhaled. From the moment she met Robert at the airport he hadn't been far from her mind. When she closed her eyes, she could see his pale-green eyes, his well-shaped lips, and his broad shoulders.

She opened her eyes again and smiled ruefully. She was not one of those girls who had crushes. Come to think of it, she was not one of those girls who handsome men walked up to and wrote their contact details on their photo and practically begged her to call. She was feeling pretty powerful right now. What a wonderful welcome to Jamaica.

“I forgot to ask, how was the trip?” Phillipa said, coming into the living room with a silver tray loaded with sandwiches, slices of little cakes, a pitcher of limeade, and two glasses.

“It was great,” Diana replied, smacking her lips. “Dad bought me a first class ticket. I traveled beside a television evangelist. I can’t remember his name, but he had a heavy gold chain around his neck with a diamond-studded cross. He preached about the excesses of man and the reluctance of business people to share their riches with the poor. The left side of my hair was wet by the time we landed in Jamaica.”

Phillipa laughed. “I am so happy you are here, wet hair and all. I have not had many visits from my family back in the States.”

“That’s because we are so busy running after the almighty dollar. When it breaks us and we can work no longer, we will come back to the place we were born.”

Diana bit into a tuna sandwich and moaned with pleasure. She barely heard her aunt as she chatted happily about her time in Jamaica.

“I have eight bedrooms, so I have decided to do a little guest house thing,” Phillipa said, and Diana suddenly tuned in. “I am so near the hotels, I could offer bed and breakfast. Floyd is such a good cook. I am afraid he will leave one day to greener pastures since he only has me to appreciate his efforts.”

“Will not happen,” Floyd said, coming down the stairs. He had changed into an even tighter pair of khaki shorts that looked like if it were squeezing him to death. He had also put on a tie-and-dye shirt, which emphasized his dark chocolate skin tone and white teeth. His flip-flop slippers made loud noises as he came down the stairs.

“I would be wasted if I did bulk cooking. My talent and creativity would be stirred and chopped into obscurity.” He flashed his hands effeminately and flip-flopped into the kitchen.

Diana looked over at her aunt and saw her grimace. “He is family, you know. Some distant cousin far removed from some other cousin who was related to my mother. He is a great help, but the grade school khaki pants was not my idea. For some strange reason he believes he looks good in them.”

“He is different,” Diana said as she heard Floyd’s flip-flops battering the floor. He passed them in the dining room with a grin—his long toes hanging over his slippers.

Diana grinned back. Floyd looked like a little boy trapped in a big man’s body. His tall, rangy frame and neatly trimmed hair with gray sprinkled throughout suggested he was close to fifty, but he acted like an enthusiastic ten-year-old.

“Is he okay mentally?” Diana asked her aunt.

Phillipa grunted. “You will be here for two months; you tell me. Speaking of family, I know I am not the only family you came out here to see.”

“Yes,” Diana said, carefully placing her glass on the coaster. She leaned back in the sofa. “I want to meet with my brothers and sisters and see what’s become of them. I remember the gut-wrenching cries of my sister Tara and my brother Flynn when my grandmother took me from the village. I can also remember that Dalton and Patricia were given away to different families. I just want to see them now. I have had this wish for years.”

Phillipa sighed. “I hope everybody fared as well as you did.”

“Me too,” Diana whispered, "me too.”

When she finished eating, Phillipa showed Diana around the spacious house. The bedrooms all had a theme and they all faced the sea. Diana especially loved her room; she had a balcony and she stood at the rails and inhaled deeply. She started to catalogue the beauty before her: white sand beach, green lush trees, and a blue sea with birds in the background. She could stand out there for hours and stare at all the shades of nature. It was not an exaggeration that Jamaica was a beautiful country.

She looked over at the property next door, which offered bungalow accommodations. Each bungalow cluster had a flower garden and shrubs, which made it seem like it would be an adventure to walk from one place another.

“That’s nice,” Diana said, pointing to the property. “I like the concept.”

Phillipa looked in the direction she pointed. “Yes, that’s Windsunsea. They have fifty rooms. It's the most popular hotel around here. It has the ambience of a private villa but the conveniences of an all-inclusive. I have to constantly ask Mr. Cassidy not to let his guests intrude on my private beach.”

Diana gasped. “Did you say ‘Cassidy’?”

“Yup,” Phillipa replied, nodding. “Roman Cassidy, a short, rich man who laughs constantly. His wife is stuck-up and clings to the upper class Jamaica status quo—acts like she is the grand dame of Negril society.”

Diana’s head was whirling. What were the odds that the Cassidy she had met at the airport and the Cassidy next door were the same? Her pulse quickened as she tried to convince herself, unsuccessfully, that she did not care.