‘Good enough,’ said Alex.
Miles grabbed Grace’s bag and pointed to the car. ‘Tight squeeze I’m afraid.’
‘Is Sasha coming?’ asked Grace.
‘Of course. Rejected the offer of the jet and she’s staying at the White Sands resort on Emerald Cay. You know Sasha. Always has to be different. Awkward. Still, she should be here in a couple of hours.’
They clambered into the Mini Moke and Miles gunned the engine, propelling the car up the hill.
‘Benny, the temporary caretaker, is doing a barbecue later for old times’ sake,’ shouted Miles over the roar. ‘No one turned vegetarian as well as teetotal on me in the last few years, did they?’
‘Old times’ sake?’ said Alex. ‘This isn’t a bloody holiday, Miles.’
‘Exactly, but neither does it have to be purgatory.’
They pulled up to the house. Since he had left this place, Alex had been around the world dozens of times and had lived a life of luxury most people only dreamt about, but still, there was something magical about Angel Cay. The view of the island from this elevated position was unmatched for drama and beauty anywhere on the globe. Somehow the sand here seemed whiter, the trees greener, the breeze more fragrant and sweet. It had a more potent tranquillity too, now the hordes of staff had left the island in preparation for the sale.
Benny the caretaker took their bags and they went out on to the terrace where ice-cold drinks and a huge fruit platter, piled high with mango, pineapple, papaya and starfruit, were waiting for them.
‘So what now?’ asked Grace.
‘How about sailing?’ said Miles, picking up a slice of mango.
‘We’re here to talk, Miles,’ said Alex with irritation.
Miles wiped the sticky orange juice from his chin with the back of his hand. ‘No point till Sash gets here.’
‘And when are we seeing Detective Carlton?’ asked Grace.
‘Tomorrow. One of his forensic goons is over the hill on the beach, though. Probably best to avoid that side of the island.’
‘I hope your lawyer’s here,’ said Alex.
‘Michael’s in George Town. Just left. Apparently Carlton and his colleagues are talking about doing a reconstruction of “the night in question”,’ he said, making quotation marks with his fingers. ‘You’d think it was bloody Crimewatch.’
Typical Miles, thought Alex, still fiddling while Rome burns. He had expected a little humility to have crept into his personality after twenty years, but it seemed Miles Ashford still saw himself as Superman – bulletproof and unbendable. Suddenly Alex felt clammy and unclean.
‘I think I’ll go up to the room to change,’ he said.
Grace followed him up and they were only mildly surprised to find they had been assigned the same bedrooms they had slept in on the 1990 holiday. Miles’ sense of humour at work, Alex assumed. He changed into a fresh shirt then went down the corridor to Grace’s room.
‘I can’t believe how little this place has changed,’ she said as he walked in. She held up a copy of Valley of the Dolls, the novel she had been reading that trip, with her bookmark still in the place she had left it. She shook her head. ‘This is going to be hard.’
‘We did nothing wrong,’ said Alex, trying to put a brave face on it, but Grace just gave him a sad smile.
‘You know that’s not true, Alex.’
He put his arm around her and she looked up at him with big blue eyes. ‘You know, all the bad stuff that has ever happened to me in my life – Caro being killed in the car bomb, the collapse of my marriage, the death of my dad, my mum, Julian and Olivia . . . sometimes I think it’s karma. You felt it too, didn’t you, when you were in the clinic?’
Alex gave her a squeeze. He knew that hot summer night in 1990 had damaged them all.
‘I try not to think about it too much. What’s done is done.’
‘But we can always do our best to make amends, can’t we?’ asked Grace.
‘We can try.’
For a moment they stood like that, both enjoying the moment of closeness. Miles might have called them all back saying they needed to stick together, but Alex seriously doubted that he – or Sasha for that matter – was motivated by that sentiment. He and Grace would just have to back each other up.