There was one called Honore I liked but of course I haven't seen him for two years.
He was studying to be an engineer.
There's one called Mendoza who's very rich but he isn't really a Trinidadian.
His grandfather came from Dominica and they say he has coloured blood.
I expect it will be Honore.
Mother always brought in his name when she wrote to me and he sent me things at Christmas and on my fete.
Rather silly things because the shops aren't good in Port of Spain.”
Later she said,
“You'll be coming back by Trinidad, won't you?
So I shall see you then.
Will you be a long time in the bush?”
“I expect you'll be married by then.”
“Tony, why haven't you ever got married?”
“But I am.”
“Married?”
“Yes.”
“You're teasing me.”
“No, honestly I am.
At least I was.”
“Oh.”
“Are you surprised?”
“I don't know.
Somehow I didn't think you were.
Where is she?”
“In England.
We had a row.”
“Oh … What's the time?”
“Quite early.”
“Let's go back.”
“D'you want to?”
“Yes, please.
It's been a delightful day.”
“You said that as if you were saying goodbye.”
“Did I?
I don't know.”
The Negro chauffeur drove them at great speed into the town.
Then they sat in a rowing boat and bobbed slowly out to the ship.
Earlier in the day in good spirits they had bought a stuffed fish.
Therese found she had left it behind at the hotel.
“It doesn't matter,” she said.
Blue water came to an end after Barbados.
Round Trinidad the sea was opaque and colourless, full of the mud which the Orinoco brought down from the mainland. Therese spent all that day in her cabin, doing her packing.
Next day she said goodbye to Tony in a hurry.
Her father had come out to meet her in the tender.
He was a wiry bronzed man with a long grey moustache. He wore a panama hat and smart silk clothes, and smoked a cheroot; the complete slave-owner of the last century.
Therese did not introduce him to Tony.
“He was someone on the ship,” she explained, obviously.
Tony saw her once next day in the town, driving with a lady who was obviously her mother.
She waved but did not stop.
“Reserved lot, these real old creoles,” remarked the passenger who had first made friends with Tony and had now attached himself again.