The Tropical Issue by Dorothy Dunnett

Author:Dorothy Dunnett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Tropical Issue
ISBN: 9780755131600
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2012-05-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The island of Martinique lies in the French West Indies between Florida and Venezuela, and is only fifty miles long.

It is volcanic, like Madeira.

The guide books say its real name, Madinina, means Island of Flowers, which also makes you think of Madeira, and goes to show that flowers have been on to a good thing for a very long time, including not only beds but Jacuzzi baths.

In Martinique, the only physical challenge comes from the female talent, which has done more for Europe than Rose’s Lime Juice.

Owners of Martinique ladies include the French King who picked Madame de Maintenance, and, of course, Napoleon, who married Marie-Joseph de la something, whose middle name was really Rose, but who got labelled as Not Tonight Josephine.

At the airport the bookstore was full of Le Monde and Paris Match and everyone spoke French, including Natalie, which was lucky as there was no Ferdy to meet us as expected, and she had to get her own car to the hotel.

The Bakoua Beach Hotel is twenty minutes across the bay from the capital, and the view would have cheered up anyone except a person demanding a message from Ferdy and finding there wasn’t any, although we had been in the thoughts of the United States Consul, the Prefet de la Region Martinique and the President of the Martinique Tourist Office, according to the envelopes the desk clerk handed to Natalie.

We went to our rooms, which had telly sets, and I expected a bit of peace while Natalie made a hundred telephone calls, but I was mistaken. I had just torn out the telly programme, which included Hulk, which I translated without any trouble, and Une Rue Sesame, which I could guess, and Incroyable Mais Vrai, which I was working on when Natalie tapped on the door and said we were off to the Tourist Office.

The President had offered her a car and a guide to go north right away to St Pierre, where Josephine’s Dad was a big shot, and back south to La Pagerie, the sugar plantation once run by Josephine’s family: just what she wanted.

She intended to go, she said, without waiting for Ferdy, who could make his own arrangements when he came, if he came. Tick.

I was sorry for Ferdy.

The Tourist Office was in the capital, Fort de France, which you could see on the hill over the bay behind the cruise ships. We got there by ferry.

Close to, the town turned out to be dead busy, with Peugeots and Renaults and Toyotas and people steaming round a grid of boutiques and stores and banks and offices, with palm trees everywhere, and more purple creeper. There was a cathedral, and a park with a statue of Josephine in it.

The sky was blue, the sea was blue, and it was boiling. Natalie had a big hat on over her permanent champagne-colour suntan. Not wishing to be flash-fried, I was covered in cheese-cloth.

French things had no tariff on them. I followed Natalie into the

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.