Room with a View

Chapter 25 - Day 7

Miller sat in his favourite spot with his feet on the railing eating slices of pineapple and watching the sun rise like an amber balloon above the ocean. There was no wind at all and the water looked frozen it was so still. Juice ran between his fingers and he licked them and wiped them on his shorts.

His dinner with Billy had been wonderful in spite of the reason and the tension it caused. Her knack for ordering just the right mix of foods to compliment the taste was extraordinary. They had sat for at least three hours nibbling on different dishes and drinks, listening to the water and the musical sounds of the night.

Miller had been surprised to learn that they were on the northern end of the Mocha Reever, as the bus driver had described it and that the hulking black shape in the distance was the base of the volcano, Great Tortuga.

When the taxi had taken them back to the resort, Billy had declined his invitation to Casa Faro and not offered one to her own quarters. She had retrieved the bag of money and sent him off with a peck on the cheek goodnight. The solution to the money problem was not resolved, at least in his mind, and as he wandered slowly home he puzzled over her reluctance to say any more about it. The pineapple juice was sticky on his fingers and he let his feet down from the railing and went inside to the sink to rinse them.

He glanced at the wardrobe where he had hidden the money on top, adjusting his luggage so that if it were moved the shaky furnishing would tilt forward and likely fall over. What he expected to happen he wasn't sure but it seemed like a good idea . . . a James Bond idea. The water sputtered out and he rinsed his hands then dried them on the towel. The sound of the door closing downstairs brought him to a silent alert.

"Hello?"

"Buenos dias, senor. Esta la sirvienta."

"Oh, okay. C'mon up."

"¿Qué?"

"Prosiga."

"Ah, si."

Miller heard the maid climbing the stairs and he wandered back out to the balcony figuring on staying out of her way until she was finished. A ragged parade of pale grey clouds slid across the flawless blue sky and he resumed his feet up position and sighed over the dazzling splendour of the view. The quiet of the morning cloaked him in a sleepy comfort and he closed his eyes concentrating on the normally unnoticed symphony of sounds from nature.

He could hear the maid busily working inside and he caught the trill of a telephone from the resort offices. Other than those intrusions it was all rustling leaves, chattering birds and insects and the creak of Casa Faro as if some ancient part or another needed to adjust its aching frame.

The crash inside jarred him physically and tipped him sideways out of the chair and onto his hands and knees on the balcony. He crawled around and peered in the door and saw the top of the maid, face down under the collapsed wardrobe; the bag of money was inches from her outstretched hand. Miller scrambled up and inside, lifting the awkward cabinet up and feeling it turn into a parallelogram as he forced it back against the wall. The maid didn't move and he wrestled his load around until it maintained its own balance then he knelt down and turned her over.

"Astrid!" He lifted up her head and gave her a little shake. "Astrid?"

The groan was low and soft and her eyes fluttered open focusing on Miller. They stared at one another for a few seconds and then with surprising strength, she shoved him back onto his rump and scrambled to her feet. The bag of money was between them and they both lunged at the same time, Miller's shoulder connecting with her head and she shot backwards and down the hole in the floor.