Bastian had hired a boat and a boatman and taken them up the Indian River and Cass never stopped drawing. Buttress roots almost like walls supported huge, old trees. The hurricane seemed to have shown mercy to these ancient natural structures.
‘Do you want a turn up front, Cass?’ asked Michael when they got back to the pick-up. ‘I wouldn’t mind a go in the back and I don’t think it’s far to where we’re going next.’
‘That would be nice,’ said Cass. ‘Just for a change. Do you know where we’re headed?’
‘A little spot only Bastian knows about. It should be interesting.’
It wasn’t long before they stopped at an unpromising pull-in at the side of the road.
‘Trust me,’ said Bastian, although Cass hadn’t asked what they had stopped for. ‘This is worth it.’
It was. They walked up the track a bit and then into the forest. There was an old mill.
All the buildings were still there: where the owners had lived, the slaves, the hospital. The wheel which turned the stones to crush the sugar cane was on its side, but huge copper vessels used to boil the sugar were all still present.
‘What sort of mill was it, Bastian?’ asked Cass. ‘Sugar? And how old is it?’
‘It dates from the 1720s, so it’s a French settlement, and in its time it’s produced coffee, sugar, rum and even lime juice. That’ – he pointed – ‘is the only windmill tower on the island.
‘I don’t think this should go in the book,’ said Bastian. ‘But I thought it would be interesting to see. I’m not sure if you’d want to draw it, Cass. You can decide. It’s the oldest surviving estate on the island.’
‘It’s very atmospheric,’ said Cass, who felt she’dstepped back into the past. ‘I’m not sure I like being here. It seems haunted.’
Bastian shrugged. ‘Our past is always haunting and often shameful. But history is history.’ He took a last look around. ‘Shall we go? I’ll ring the owner when I get back. He needs to see to the roofs of the houses. Before they fall into disrepair. Do you want to draw it?’
Cass shook her head. She couldn’t wait to get home.
Cass was feeling sombre on the journey back. It wasn’t only the old sugar mill that had cast a shadow over her, it was the realisation that she would have to face Ranulph and have their difficult conversation.
By the time they got back she had decided she couldn’t put it off. She had to hear the truth, the truth she already knew, from Ranulph’s own lips. This feeble behaviour was just that, feeble. She couldn’t let herself get away with it.
When Cass got in, Ranulph and Sylvie were already ensconced on the veranda, discussing their day, showing each other photographs they’d taken on their phones, Friendly sitting happily at their feet.
Cass went to her room to tidy herself and then went straight to the kitchen. Delphine put a rum punch in her hand.
‘You’re at least one behind the others, girl,’ she said.
Cass couldn’t help smiling. ‘Do I look as if I need a drink?’
Delphine didn’t answer and Cass went out on to the veranda.
‘Ranulph?’ she said after she’d taken a couple of heartening sips of punch. ‘Could I have a word?’
She’d spoken quietly but Sylvie heard. ‘When people say that, you know it’s bad news,’ she said. ‘Although I’m sure Cass hasn’t got bad news for you, Ranulph.’ She looked from Cass to Ranulph and back again. ‘Or maybe …’
Ranulph guided Cass away from the veranda on to the short grass with a view of the sea. He didn’t speak.
Cass exhaled. ‘We need to talk about what happened in London.’
He turned to her. ‘Yes! Why didn’t you reply to any of my texts and emails?’
She swallowed. ‘I didn’t read them. I had them sent to a folder automatically.’ She realised what utter cowardice this had been.
‘Why?’ He was obviously furious but keeping it in check.
‘Why did you come here?’ Cass asked. ‘To Dominica? Are you working?’
He shook his head. ‘I came to see you, Cass. I heard from Bastian you were coming and got myself a flight.’
