Free Spell of the Island by Anne Hampson Page A

part to leave Jeremy.’
    ‘Nevertheless, you are leaving?’ Emma held her breath again, then let it out slowly and thankfully on hearing Louise say, ‘I am leaving, yes, Emma. I realise just how stupid I’ve been.’ She looked at her sister. ‘Had it been you, you’d have been stronger, wouldn’t you? You’d never have fallen victim to Paul’s good looks and other perfections.’
    Naturally Emma had nothing to say to this! For she had come closer by far to falling victim! She had almost given herself to the man.
    ‘Shall we move on?’ Louise opened her handbag and took out sunglasses. ‘I shall miss this lovely sun,’ she sighed as she put them on.
    ‘But you’ll be happier in yourself. Oh, Louise, I’m so glad you’re coming home with me! Mother will be thrilled, too. She’s missed you, Louise.’
    ‘It troubled me,’ she admitted. ‘Yes, I shall be doing the right thing all round by coming home with you.’ She paused while Emma paid the waitress, a lovely Creole girl with the name: Vivoosee, pinned to her royal blue apron. ‘I don’t know how I am going to give Paul my notice,’ she added with a visible shudder when the girl had gone. ‘However, I’ll manage it somehow.’
    Emma was silent, thinking about Paul and knowing he would be furious at this turn of events; he’d blame her she felt sure—and, of course, he would have cause to do so since it was by her persuasion that Louise was leaving the island. What of the little boy? Emma felt sorry for him but supposed that, adaptable as he seemed to be, he would soon get used to the new nanny his uncle would procure for him.
    They went to the harbour, one of the finest in the Indian Ocean, first named Turtle Bay—Rade des Molluques—by the Dutch, but Port Louis was later created by the famous soldier and sailor, Mahe de Labourdonnais who became Governor of the island, changing it from a mere trading post to what it was today. Numerous ships and boats of all shapes and sizes lay at anchor in the magnificent bay. From there Louise took Emma to the market—a fantastic conglomeration of noisy people and multicoloured fruits and vegetables. One could hardly walk between the stacks of produce or crowds of shoppers and stall owners.
    ‘It’s incredible!’ exclaimed Emma. ‘Fascinating.’ She was thoroughly enjoying the outing, partly, she supposed, because Louise was like her old self, a good companion and friend. Partly, though, because of the uniqueness of her surroundings. It was hard to imagine that once upon a time almost the entire island had been covered with thick forests of ebony trees, mainly Dutch red ebony—tambalacoque, tatamaka and others. Most had been cut down for sugar and tea plantations such as were owned by Paul Fanchette.
    ‘Shall we drive on now to Curepipe?’ suggested Louise after they had seen more of the city and had taken lunch at a restaurant called La Flore Mauricienne where they ate squid in Creole sauce served with saffron rice. For dessert they had fresh fruit and little coconut biscuits.
    ‘Yes, whatever you say,’ answered Emma, ‘I’m really enjoying myself.’
    ‘At last,’ briefly but with meaning.
    ‘It’s such a relief—’
    ‘I’m not myself yet,’ broke in Louise warningly. ‘You have no idea the difficulty I have in not bursting into tears.’
    Emma swallowed, having been aware, of course, that Louise was by no means recovered yet. That was impossible, but at least some progress was being made.
    Curepipe was the chief residential town of the island, with interesting shops where Emma bought her mother a Chinese ivory carving and some hand-embroidered handkerchiefs. From Curepipe they drove to the Machabee Forests where a guideshowed them trees a thousand years old; later they stopped at the Plaine Champagne, parking the car and taking the five minutes’ walk to get a spectacular view of the Rivière Noire gorges where all was silent, motionless—except for the roar of the waterfalls. No