“You’ve got this,” I assure her.
“Can we get you a drink?” Don asks as we make our way up the wide stretch of sand to the general guest area.
This is the first time either of us has seen the lodge, and like our cottage, it’s earthy but spectacular. Similar high and overlapping A-frame roofs cover the communal spaces. Several cushioned enclaves create privacy for people to sit in the shade, and there’s a fully covered dining area where they can serve meals when it rains. There’s a beach bar on hand, but farther in, I spot a bigger bar area with colorful liquor bottles on display.
“What would you recommend? Do you have a house cocktail?” I ask as I let go of Lexi’s hand.
Don nods. “That we do. Two of those coming right up.”
He walks off to the beach bar, and Miriam indicates for us to follow her to where waiters, dressed in chinos and white shirts, are getting ready for service. “Might as well start introducing you now.”
We’re dunked in a whirlwind of names and smiling faces with a lot of hand shaking in between. Miriam then takes us to the kitchen where we peer in. One chef, one sous-chef, and two assistants later, my stomach is growling from all the delicious smells.
“You know we’ll probably have to redo all these introductions in the morning,” Lexi says as we walk out to meet Don, who’s holding our cocktails.
“Yeah.” My jet-lagged brain screams for a break. “I’m a bit fried.”
“Not to worry,” Miriam assures us. “At least they know who you are and can help you going forward. The staff here are lovely, except when strangers step in short term like they’ve done with the dive center. There’s been an undercurrent of dissatisfaction for weeks now.”
Don and Miriam are painting this too pretty. Miriam’s earlier comment about the dive center already sounded a warning bell. For all we know, we’ve stepped into a ship with a mutiny on our hands. But if there’s trouble on the ground, surely we’re supposed to know? They could have told us something during the interview process…or not. This sounds like they have a revolving door of people coming and going. This Beaumont gig could have another side to its very shiny coin—one we may not be ready for.
“I’m sure we can figure it out,” Lexi says as she takes her drink from Don. “Cheers!”
I raise my cocktail to hers, but as our gazes meet, it’s clear Lexi’s read between the lines too. I can see worry sitting shallow in her gaze, and those frown lines between her eyebrows etch deep.
When we sit down at our romantic table for two ten minutes later, within a lick of the waves at our feet, she looks up to me with a grimace. “How well do you know your way around boats?” She swallows as she leans closer. “Do you think we could build a raft and row to Pemba if we needed to escape?”
Chapter Fourteen
LEXI
Dinner was amazing. I can’t believe the food that came out of that kitchen tonight. If this is the Beaumont standard on a tiny speck of an island in the middle of the ocean, I wonder what the food is like in France, where they have their stronghold.
Tristan and I are walking back to our cottage after saying goodnight to Don and Miriam and the waiters who were cleaning up. Our cottage is in the opposite direction from the guests’ accommodations, and this time we take the boarded walkway that starts at the main reception area. At the end of the lit walkway, one sign saysPrivateand the other way saysForest Trail. At this fork, Tristan lets go of my hand and we step down onto the sand.
We’re finally out of sight and earshot, and I stifle a yawn. It’s still early, but I’m happy to go to bed. We’re both on duty at seven in the morning. There is a daily housekeeping briefing first thing, and obviously, I need to be there.
Tristan’s first dive is at around nine thirty, but he told Don he’d be at the dive center early to see what’s plotting there. The hints were few and far in between, but I saw the signs.Despite the pleasant smiles and happy island vibes, some of the staff here are disgruntled. The red flag that waved during my interview with Nathan Beaumont now flaps in the wind. Who knows how this is going to manifest in my day-to-day? But that’s tomorrow’s worry.
I’m too tired to be nervous around Tristan. Our first night alone in this intimate space loomed over me earlier, but he said the bed is mine, and I’m happy to have it, despite feeling crap about it.
“You use the bathroom first,” he says as we walk into our cottage.
We both freeze on the spot as we approach the bedroom. There’s been a room turndown of sorts. Some windows are now covered with the roll-down grass-woven curtains, but the breeze still moves through the space. The mosquito net has been pulled closed and tied just beyond the bed frame, forming an intimate box of protection. Where we’d shifted a pillow or put anything out of place, things have been rearranged to perfection. Citronella is burning somewhere. A standing light is lit in the living area, and a moth dances in the golden hue.
“Nice,” Tristan mutters as we stare at the bed.
Here’s something we didn’t consider: bugs.
I try not to freak out, now even more aware of how exposed Tristan will be in the open, since there’s only one mosquito net.
“Can’t be that bad,” he says, as if reading my mind. Then he turns away, leaving me standing, indecisive, as he disappears into the night.
My indecisiveness doesn’t last long. Not much I can do about the bugs now. I go through my nighttime routine and am very grateful when I finally slip into the safety of the netted bed and switch off my bedside lamp. Everything is weirdly open, but here, ensconced behind a veil, there’s a false sense of security.
And yet…this bed is the most dangerous place of them all.
I glance to the side—Tristan’s side—and then to the light in the living area I’ve kept on for him. I have no idea when he’s going to come back, or what he’s going to do, so I roll on my side and look the other way, hoping to be asleep before he returns. It’s too warm for anything more than the tank top and sleep shorts I’m wearing, and I don’t bother to get under the light covers.
