Free The Takamaka Tree by Alexandra Thomas

him, carefully and primly. He almost preferred his native girl in her bra and sarong skirt, her tawny hair all tangled in the warm breeze.
    “Very nice,” said Daniel. “Tea or coffee?”
    “You don’t like it.”
    “Oh dear, you’re not going to become one of these women who must have effusive compliments all the time, are you? It’s just that you look so different, and it takes a bit of getting used to. Actually you look very pretty and cool and charming. How’s that?”
    “I am silly,” Sandy reflected. “For months I haven’t bothered how I looked, and now in five minutes of being somewhere civilised, I get all het up because I don’t think you like what I’m wearing.” She smiled suddenly. “There’s a moral there, isn’t there?”
    He took Sandy walking along the shore-line garden of the hotel as a preliminary to her first visit to town. It was a low white hotel, stretching for almost a quarter of a mile, every room facing the lagoon. A few guests were sunbathing by the pool, though Daniel could not imagine why they preferred the pool to the sea only a few yards away.
    She found it quite unnerving at first. It was so different from La Petite, and yet there was the same sea, the same sands, the same languorous palms and exotic blossoms. There were signs of restrained activity around the hotel: quick-footed waiters, the smiling waitresses in their floral cotton frocks and cars arriving at the concourse in front of the hotel, as well as the holiday-makers relaxing in the sun.
    Somewhere she could hear the sound of tennis being played on a hard court. There was golf, too, on a private course cleared among the coconut grove. A road ran along the back of the hotel gardens and she caught her first sight of traffic—small cars, open beach buggies, bicycles, and occasionally a lorry or laden bus. The buses were cheerful mini-vans pumping stereo music into their passengers’ ears, the conductor taking a precarious ride on the step of the open door.
    Daniel retraced their route back to the hotel, talking easily to put Sandy’s mind at rest.
    “There you see, no one is taking any notice of you. They are not thinking whether you know who you are, or what your name is. They simply see a pretty girl out walking and mind their own business. It will be the same everywhere.”
    “I know what you mean and it’s all right while no one speaks to me. But I shall be terrified if anyone asks me anything,” said Sandy, admitting to herself that she was beginning to enjoy the new sights and sounds—as long as she could remain a spectator.
    “I’ve hired a beach buggy,” said Daniel. “We’ll go for a drive before lunch. It’s a beautiful island. We’ll go across and see Beau Vallon, their prize beach. I’ve asked the hotel for a packed lunch, so you will be spared the ordeal of eating in public.”
    Sandy smiled her relief. “I’m sorry I’m such a fool. But I do appreciate it. A little longer please, Daniel, and I will be ready to walk into the world again. So long as I am at your side.”
    It was the first time she had used his name, and he recognised it was a turning point in her development. She was finding an identity for herself, so she felt able to address him as an equal. But he would have to extricate himself from this total dependence she had on him. She could not always be at his side. The time would come when he would have to leave her.
    “That’s more like it,” he said cheerfully. “And no hysterics please if anyone asks your name.”
    “But I have a perfectly good name,” said Sandy demurely.
    Suddenly Daniel thought she was going to say Gabrielle Webster. The name hung in the air, tangible. His imagination saw it written everywhere.
    Sandy hid the twinkle in her eyes. She turned her gaze seawards and let her hair toss in the warm breeze.
    “If anyone asks me, my name’s Sandy Kane,” she said. “Remember? I’m Mrs. Kane.”
    “Of course, I hadn’t forgotten,” he lied. It was one