The Turtle Run by Marie Evelyn Read Free Book Online Page B

actually she took that quite well,’ said Joe.
    Nothing more was said on the subject but it was still a relief to get out of the house on Friday. Becky received the warmest of welcomes from Clara, who led her into her bright living room and settled herself on the sofa, patting the seat beside her. ‘So, you’ve told your mother you’ll be going away?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Becky, sitting down. ‘It’s fine. Well, she’s OK. She asked me if you were French. I guess your name sounds French.’
    Clara laughed. ‘No, Becky. I’m from Martinique. Anyway, Babonneau is my maiden name. My son prefers me to use that.’
    Becky frowned. ‘Why?’
    â€˜Shall we have another go at that peculiar sherry?’ said Clara. ‘It wasn’t so bad after the first mouthful.’ Becky nodded and Clara poured them a glass each, then sat back down with a sigh.
    â€˜I want you to know that Barbados is not dangerous but –’ Clara took a sip of peppered sherry and made a comical eye-screwing expression, ‘the truth is my son has made a bit of money – which he works very hard for – and the police in Barbados discovered a plan by some despicable people to kidnap me and get my son to pay a ransom. This was a few years back.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Becky. This was casserole-dropping information.
    â€˜Fortunately it was all very amateur so nothing bad happened. It was my son who then encouraged me to use a different name in public. Pointless in Barbados, of course, where everyone knows me, but I suppose it might confuse people when I’m abroad. I think he got a little paranoid but there we are.’
    â€˜I can imagine he was paranoid – with good reason.’
    â€˜But, trust me, the house in Barbados is as secure as a prison.’
    An unfortunate simile, thought Becky. No doubt Clara was trying to put her mind at rest but she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay in a jail.
    â€˜Who else is in this house?’ she asked.
    â€˜It will be us, Mr R of course, our lovely old cook and people drop by all the time. It’s very relaxed.’
    That sounded better.
    â€˜My son is due sometime today, back from – oh I can’t keep track of him – France, was it? Anyway, it would be good if you can meet him before we all end up in the Bajan house together.’
    â€˜That sounds like a good idea. And Bajan is short for Barbadian?’
    â€˜Yes indeed. You’ll hear it all the time when you’re there.’
    The doorbell rang, closely followed by the sound of a key turning.
    Clara beamed and got up. ‘I wasn’t expecting him back this early. I’ll be able to tell him right away I’ve found the co-author of my book.’ She laughed at the grandness of the title and went out to the hall.
    Becky could picture her giving her son an effusive hug as she greeted him. ‘When did you get back from – wherever it was? I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.’
    â€˜Shall I go away, then?’ a jocular voice enquired. Becky sat forward on the sofa: that accent was familiar.
    â€˜Certainly not. I see little enough of you as it is. Now come on in.’
    There was a clunk and Becky assumed Mr R’s head had collided with the potted fern suspended from the ceiling in the hall; Clara and Becky had passed it under safely but evidently he was that bit taller.
    â€˜Ouch. I should wear a hard hat in here,’ he said, dolefully.
    â€˜Oh, that reminds me,’ said Clara. ‘Can you water that later? Saves me getting out the stepladder. Now come and meet my lovely new co-author.’
    â€˜Co-author?’
    â€˜For the book I keep talking about.’
    â€˜Book?’
    There was no mistaking that voice now and Becky looked round hurriedly but the only way out of the room was the door Clara was walking back through, followed by Matthew Darnley. He was wearing an expectant smile but the grin