‘That’s very generous of you!’
‘It’s not a problem – really. In fact, this seat is wider than the camp beds we’re sleeping on.’
‘Well, it was designed to be able to accommodate guests should they need it.’ Bastian laughed. ‘The rum punches can be powerful.’
‘Especially the kind Delphine makes. I made a sort of pet’t punch for myself.’
Bastian seemed in no hurry to get to his own bed.
‘Can I make you a hot drink? Or a snack?’ said Cass.
‘No thank you to a snack, I had one with Toussaint’s family. We were planning a visit to the petroglyph.’
‘Oh, that is exciting!’ Cass was delighted at the thought that he might find the petroglyph while she was still there. ‘Some cocoa then?’
‘I’d love that. Do you know how to make it? I don’t want cocoa-tea. I want cocoa like my father used to make it.’
‘With condensed milk, like my father likes his?’
He nodded.
‘Will you have a drop of rum in it?’
‘It’s part of the tradition!’ said Bastian. ‘I’ve never met anyone who understood that before.’
‘Our dads obviously shared more than just the petroglyph,’ said Cass.
She took trouble over Bastian’s cocoa and enjoyed making it. He always did so much for others, now especially, that it was nice to have the opportunity to do something – even such a small thing – for him. She made enough for two.
When she got back out, Bastian was sitting gazing out to sea. Moonlight filled the veranda, dimming the stars and adding mystery to the night.
He sat up and smiled. But in spite of his apparentgood spirits when he arrived home, Cass was aware that now, he wasn’t his usual positive self.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s proving hard to find an opportunity to go on our search. I don’t want to take anyone other than Toussaint because I know I can trust him. He isn’t so fond of gossip as some of the locals. But he has lots of calls on his time, especially now.’
‘And you still need a photo? Proof the petroglyph exists.’
‘Yes. I need to see it with my own eyes, too.’
Cass sipped her cocoa. ‘I wish there was some way I could help.’
‘There is.’ Bastian paused. ‘I wondered whether you could help me with my paper – well, it’s a book really. It’s almost long enough for a book.’
‘But how?’
‘With drawings? I can draw up to a point but I’m very short of time. My research carries on from my father’s and he did stick men, more or less, to illustrate his work. But if you could turn them into flesh and blood people, with plants and trees we recognise, that would be a huge help.’ He paused. ‘If – when – I get a publisher, I wouldn’t be expected to illustrate the book myself so there’d be no problem with you doing them.’
Cass felt overwhelmed for a few moments. ‘You want me to illustrate your paper?’
‘Yes. Why are you so surprised? Your drawing abilities are superb.’
Cass didn’t reply immediately. ‘No one has ever had that sort of faith in me before.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My family see me as a bit of a failure, the family joke, the one who gets into trouble, does silly things and won’t amount to anything.’
