Holden was waiting in the car park behind the funeral home when she arrived, eager to leave for a grief visit in the country. Ten minutes later they were on their way to the east, following Clifford in the white van to collect an old lady who had keeled over in the middle of choir rehearsal. The rest of the choir reported that when Miss Smith hadn’t moved after getting into the spirit that the pastor became so anxious that he started to pray with a fervour that easily outpaced his Sunday sermons. Sadly, the woman’s nephew was also a mortician. He sneered at Holden before explaining in no uncertain terms that he would be handling his aunt’s arrangements, thank you very much. Eileen snickered at the nephew’s tone and to her surprise, Holden grinned back at her as they made their way out of the church. It was a stark contrast to the other times they had missed out on business.
They drove on winding roads bordered by big banana patches and across small concrete bridges that overlooked lush gullies, the wind whipping through the windows with such force that Eileen had to ask him to repeat when Holden asked out of the blue, “Are you hungry?"
"To hear Clifford tell it, I'm always hungry."
"I thought a luncheon would help us to get better acquainted. Since you're still new to the business.”
“Oh really?” Eileen asked. “A lot of business owners aren’t so nice.”
Holden cleared his throat. “Well… yes, I try.” He gestured to a weathered stone sign ahead engraved with the words ‘Highland Club, 5 KM ahead’.
“Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“Well…if you have time we can have that luncheon now so I could properly welcome you to Davis and Sons.”
Eileen turned to look at him. “Oh… I thought everyone attended.”
“I’d invite Clifford, but today is his day for polishing the walls, so it will be just us.”
Eileen laughed. “I really like him, you know.”
“Yes, Clifford’s free-wheeling nature tends to have that effect on the ladies,” Holden said wryly as Eileen swung the car onto the narrow road.
It was the kind of day that photographers rushed out to capture for the postcards that filled souvenir shops at the airport. The sky was a storybook blue that stretched as far as the eye could see. Green coconut fronds stretched high above fields where yellow butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Eileen inhaled the country air; it was much lighter and sweeter than the bus fumes that crept under the glass door at the funeral home.
Her deep breaths didn’t escape Holden’s notice and he asked, “You like the country?”
“I was raised in Ten Men’s so maybe I gravitate to something different just to be contrary,” she said with a cheeky smile.
Surprise registered on his face. “The fishing village up north? I wouldn’t figure you for a girl who grew up smelling melts all day.”
Laughter erupted from Eileen’s throat. “Well, I did and I loved it. Every evening after school, I used to run across the road to play on the beach. Vendors like Miss Fray and Miss Lucy would make sure I didn’t go into the sea and drown.”
“I’ve always been envious of people whose upbringings were full of fun and frolic,” Holden sighed. “I spent my childhood handing tissues to widows and holding condolence books.”
In spite of herself, Eileen couldn’t shake the image of a tightly wound boy dressed in a tiny suit as a wizened old woman cried on his shoulder. She folded her lips to hold in a smile.
“When I was young, children used to play in Southbury Cemetery after school. One evening, some boys were upping a kite just outside the chapel door. My father had left me to mind the coffin of an old man, telling me to stand between it and the church door and above all else, don’t move.” He shook his head in amusement. “I don’t need to tell you that a little boy would rather fly a kite than babysit a coffin.”
“The funeral started and my father turned away, so I figured I’d just nip out to get a little fly off the kite.” A smile played on Holden's lips. “There I am, jacket off, running with the kite when I heard shouting and noticed something moving along next to me. I figured the kite’s owner had changed his mind and didn’t want me to fly it anymore so I ran faster. The thing picks up pace and passes me before I realized it was the coffin speeding down the incline with my father running behind it. It turns out that the wheel-lock on the coffin trolley was slack.”
Eileen's chest heaved and tears streamed down her face. Holden joined in and both of them were in fits of giggles when they pulled up to the Highland Club.
The modest country road had opened up and split in two, curving to meet under the high porté cochère of a wide coral stone building. Two stewards dressed in black coat-tails appeared from behind round columns as soon as the car screeched to a noisy halt under the covered arch. Eileen liked them immediately; neither batted an eyelid at her car even when she showed them how to jiggle the gear stick to put it in park.
A few minutes later, she and Holden were seated on the oceanfront terrace at a table laid with polished silver that glinted in the afternoon sunlight. The view was breathtaking, and it was instantly clear to Eileen why the club was one of the most exclusive spots on the island. A sandy knoll beyond the low balcony was covered with tangled green vines struggling under the weight of ripe fat pork. Sea breeze whistled through the vines that thinned out as they crept closer to the sand only to be replaced with stubborn tufts of salt-bleached grass and small crab holes. Rough waves raked foamy fingers across the white sand beach, dragging seashells and
