Death in the Caribbean, page 2
‘Well, he can now . . . What he can’t do is to tell the Americans, whose money is needed to provide jobs for Nuevans, “Don’t come near the place because the next Government may chuck you out.” Somebody is presumably backing the Opposition, for they seem to have plenty of money. But it is unclear who is behind them. I was wondering if you could, perhaps, find out what is going on.’
‘What a holiday job! And who am I supposed to represent? I can’t have any official status in Nueva.’
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve fixed that up for you already. The Nuevan Army – yes, there is a Nuevan Army – is thinking of equipping itself with the new British rifle. The Prime Minister, who sensibly doubles in the post of commander-in-chief, would be delighted to welcome the distinguished small-arms expert, Colonel Blair, as technical adviser in the use of the new rifle.’
‘I am not a small-arms expert.’
‘Damn it, you are a colonel, and are supposed to be able to fire a rifle. The Ministry of Defence is also delighted with the arrangement. The British taxpayer will be paying, anyway, and if some of the grants in aid to Nueva are spent on buying British rifles, at least a little of the money will come back to Britain.’
‘How have you sold me as a small-arms expert?’
‘Well, the Ministry of Defence has some extremely able intelligence officers. I mention no names, but you are well enough aware of those who have reason to respect you in your – er – other capacities. It was not difficult for a word to be said in the right quarter. Anyway, Peter, there is a place booked for you on a British World Airways flight to Nueva tomorrow. Rosemary has all the papers for you. Have a word with her as you go out. Oh, and she’s made an appointment for you at the Tropical Diseases Clinic for this afternoon, to make sure that your inoculations are all up to date.’
That is Sir Edmund all over. What he offers with one hand, he has already taken from you with the other.
*
The flight to Nueva was as dull as most air journeys are. By the time I got on the plane I was too exhausted to care. I have enough experience of life to know that things like tropical kit are best bought in the tropics, but I had to have some tropical uniform in order to appear respectable when I met the representatives of the Nuevan Army. However, it is wonderful what military tailors can do if you are really pressed, and in the intervals of getting jabbed at the Tropical Diseases Clinic and rushing to a chart agent to get some charts of Nueva and the Lesser Antilles I was fitted out with most of what I needed. Rosemary – she is Sir Edmund’s secretary – had thoughtfully obtained two copies of the instruction manual for the new rifle, and although I had never fired the thing I reckoned that I could get by.
Normally I never drink outside the hours of noon to one thirty or after six o’clock in the evening, but the plane took off at eight o’clock in the morning, and when a nice hostess brought round drinks at ten o’clock I was ready for a large whisky. ‘You are going to Nueva?’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you will find whisky very expensive in Nueva – but they say that Nueva rum is the best in the world.’ This did not exactly comfort me, but it helped to make me feel a bit more resigned.
*
Nueva is a longish island, lying roughly north-west to south-east. The capital – Fort James – is on the southern, or Caribbean, coast, and most of the settlements are on that side of the island. We crossed the Atlantic coast too high to make out much of it, but the sea was an incredibly lovely blue, and I could just distinguish the famous white sand beaches. The mountainous interior of the island rises to some 6,000 feet, and we kept high as we flew over it. I didn’t see much of Nueva until we began the descent to the airport outside Fort James, but then, tired as I was, the sheer beauty of the place was an excitement. There are no half-tones in the West Indian landscape – everything is in vivid primary colours, splashed on with the abandon of a happy child given free run of a paintbox. The blue of the sea is deep ultra-marine, the green of the bush-covered hills a pure Garden-of-Eden green, the red of the hibiscus flowers clear flame. There were other flowers whose names I did not then know, notably the brilliant yellow of a forest tree called, I learned later, poui, and another magnificent flowering tree called Flame of the Forest.
I was met at the airport by a brigadier of the Nuevan Rifles, commanding a small guard of honour who presented arms with the snap of a Guards unit. After inspecting the guard, the brigadier took me in a staff car to the Fort James Hotel, where I had not merely a room but a suite, overlooking some gardens with a pond full of lovely water lilies. The brigadier invited me to dine with him that evening, saying that a car would be sent to collect me in an hour, to give me time to have a bath. He also gave me a note from the Prime Minister, inviting me to call on him in the morning.
I quite enjoyed that evening. We dined privately in the brigadier’s house, a few miles outside Fort James, and it was my first experience of the West Indian fruit. I have had mangoes in India, but they were poor things beside the magnificent fruit that grow in Nueva.
The brigadier impressed me. He was youngish, not much over forty, and of pure Negro blood. He had joined the Army in the last days of colonial rule, had won quick promotion, and had been to our own Staff College. He was highly educated, and I felt that if the Nuevans could produce many officers of his type there could be nothing much wrong with their Army. That, I reflected, was perhaps part of the problem: if tempted to play politics, an efficient Army is in a strong position to do more or less what it likes in a new state. I did not know where the Army’s political sympathies lay, and the brigadier did not enlighten me. He said nothing to indicate that he knew of the non small-arms training side of my mission, and of course I was careful to be no more than a Regular British Officer, keen to see that the Nuevans got the best of what we could provide.
We did not wholly avoid politics, but discussed them only in the most general terms. I was naturally interested to learn how Nueva was making out in independence, and the brigadier was ready enough to discuss his country’s economic problems. ‘I am not in the least hostile to the British,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I did rather well out of your old Empire. I was a clever boy, went to a church school, and won a scholarship that took me to a university in Canada. Your Army taught me a lot, and treated me well. As I have met your people, I have no complaints. But that’s the point – as I have met them. If I lived in shanty-town on the other side of Fort James, if I had no job and not much prospect of ever having one, I couldn’t feel as well-disposed to the people who – from my point of view – created the mess I have to live in. I don’t think the British were ever particularly brutal masters – certainly far less brutal than some of the other colonial powers. You sent us good administrators, gave us, on the whole, good schools. Your law, again on the whole, was good law, deserving our respect – we have not changed the civil and criminal law you left us. Broadly, my complaint against the old colonial administration is that it saw no future for us. Bright individuals who could be assimilated to your own society – Fine, you said, come in! To the rest of the population you were polite, reasonably kind, and completely careless. You didn’t particularly want Nuevan industry – you preferred that we should import your products. You wanted our raw materials, sugar, chiefly, a little cotton, a little cocoa, but you wanted them for your own factories, you didn’t want them processed here. And if your factories found that they could get cheaper sugar, cheaper cocoa, somewhere else – well, that was just too bad for Nueva. You see, we have to start from where you left off, and you never really took us very far.’
I couldn’t help feeling that he was largely right. ‘I wonder if any empires have done much better for their subject people – Rome, Spain, for instance,’ I said.
‘Probably not. In a way, a woolly sort of way, if you will forgive my saying so, I think the old British Empire was perhaps the most well-meaning of the lot. What you must understand is that it isn’t very nice to be a subject person. One thing you have given us that I think our grandchildren and great-grandchildren may even bless you for – and that’s the English language.’
‘It’s good of you to say so. Maybe we can also give you, or at least sell you, a good rifle, too,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘We shall get on well together, Colonel. I understand you are seeing the Prime Minister in the morning – I shall send a car to your hotel to take you to him. Tomorrow evening the Defence Staff has arranged a small reception for you. After that we can get down to business. You will find that our chaps can shoot quite straight.’
I wondered what he meant by that.
II
THE CAVALS
NE IS NOT at one’s best on emerging from an earthquake. I have tried to explain what brought me to Nueva, but the events of those days are still rather confused in my mind. Surveying the ruins of Edward Caval’s once-beautiful house it struck me as among the wilder lunacies of life that I had been sent to him by the Prime Minister to try to learn if he really wanted to sell his share of the Caval estate to an American syndicate. Well, earthquakes have an effect on property values, perhaps.
My visit, although it had secondary intentions, was, on the face of things, purely social. I had been three days in Nueva, and you can’t be three hours in Nueva without hearing the name Caval. Mr Li Cook told me about him at our first meeting.
The Prime Minister lived in what had been Government House, formerly the Colonial Governor’s official residence in Fort James. He received me in his private quarters, without a touch of formality. A secretary brought me in, but she was at once dismissed, and we were alone together. The room was on the ground floor, opening through a loose hanging screen of cus-cus grass – wetted, it gives off a scent of eau de cologne – on to a delightful garden. ‘Come into the garden,’ he said, as soon as we had shaken hands. Outside, he went on, ‘We will talk, if you don’t mind, in the garden – it will be cool enough under the trees they call las madres de cacao, “the mothers of the cocoa”. They are forest trees, grown on our cocoa plantations to shade the cocoa crop. They are beautiful trees, and will shade us just as well as they do cocoa.’
The trees were a good hundred yards from the house. In their shelter the Prime Minister explained, ‘It is not that I am naturally distrustful, but in these days of high technology, it is as well to take no chances. Las madres de cacao will keep their secrets – I am less sure of walls and furniture. How did you get on with the brigadier?’
‘Quite well, I think. He gave me a nice dinner, and he was interesting to talk to. He is very intelligent.’
‘Yes, he is certainly that. He might even be on my side . . . he is a Nuevan patriot, I think. He knows nothing of the – er – inner reasons for your visit. At least, I have told him nothing, though he may have his own sources of intelligence.’
‘He gave no indication of being concerned with anything but the new rifle.’
‘Good. That is quite genuine – I think we should equip our forces with it. I must leave you to get on with that side of the business in your own way. I want to talk to you this morning about the Cavals. You have heard of the Caval family?’
‘I noticed Caval Street in Fort James, and I think the brochure about the hotel in my bedroom had something about a Caval being the proprietor.’
‘Of course. The Cavals used to own most of Nueva, they are still by far our richest family. The first Edward Caval –the first, at any rate, to have anything to do with our own history, was an Oxfordshire squire who supported Charles I in the English Civil War, and lost all his possessions as a result. After the restoration, Charles II gave him Nueva as a reward. The King certainly never set eyes on the place, though possibly Prince Rupert did. But it was a cheap way of paying debts. The first Edward Caval ran the island like a private estate, as, I suppose, it was. He left two sons, another Edward – there is always an Edward Caval – and another son, Antoine, by a French mistress. There was bad blood between the half-brothers. Edward, as the legitimate heir, felt that the whole island should be his, but his father had been fond of Antoine’s mother and apparently liked the boy himself. Anyway, he left a perfectly good will, giving Antoine nearly half the island. Edward tried to challenge the will in the English courts, but after a law suit that dragged on for years, the will was upheld. The result was a kind of private war in Nueva, each brother arming his slaves and trying to take the other’s land by force. Things got so bad that the English Government sent a naval force to intervene. Edward was killed, and the administration was formally taken over by the Crown, who sent out a Governor and gave him a military garrison to maintain order. This gave the island a recognised Government, but it made no difference to proprietorship. Edward left a son who succeeded to his plantations, and Antoine kept his. The two families adopted a policy of live and let live, disliking each other, but combining whenever they wanted to defeat some piece of colonial legislation they didn’t like. Enjoying most of the economic power in the island, they generally won.
‘But all this is fairly ancient history, though it is necessary to give you an understanding of the background to our present situation. The Edward Cavals have kept their land, and – unlike most planter families, who made enormous fortunes out of sugar in the eighteenth century, and bought country estates in England rather than put money back into Nueva – they have been excellent landlords. The Antoine Caval line was more given to extravagant living, and in the course of time lost much of their land. They still have some, though, on the Caribbean coast of Nueva. Most of the Atlantic coast belongs to the present Edward. He is a widower, without children, and it is far from clear what the sucession is.
‘The present head of the Antoine Caval branch of the family, one Nicolas Caval, is politically inclined, and supports the Opposition leader, Nelson Ebenezer, in pressing for rapid American development of a tourist industry on our Atlantic coast. The land, however, belongs to Edward.
‘You must understand, Colonel, that we were given independence – we did not obtain it for ourselves by revolution. That explains, at least to some extent, why we have not upset existing law, and have not interfered much with established ownership in the island. We are a sovereign Government, of course, and doubtless we could expropriate the Caval lands, but I am not myself greatly in favour of such action. And, as I said, Edward Caval continues his branch of the family’s tradition of being good landlords. His estates are the best run and most profitable on the island, and he is popular with the workers on them. I do not want revolutionary change – seldom, I think, does it do much to improve the human lot. Confucius is politically out of fashion, but his teachings which, in a sense, I have inherited, embody much wisdom. Reform certainly – my Government has already promoted many useful reforms, and if we are given the chance we shall achieve much more. But revolution, no.’
He paused, and said nothing more while we walked to the end of the avenue under the Mothers of the Cocoa trees, turned, and came back. I found myself liking Mr Li Cook, and wondering what chance a man of his moderation had of staying in power. When we had completed one turn of our walk in silence, he went on, ‘If Edward Caval were to sell out to the Americans there is little I could do to prevent vast development of our Atlantic coast, with consequences no one can foresee. But is he willing to sell? It would be against the whole Caval tradition, but he has no child to follow him, and he may have lost heart. There is another possibility – Caval dynastic feeling may be so strong that he will leave his estates to the Nicolas Cavals, who would almost certainly want to sell. I am hoping, Colonel, that perhaps you can find out for me.’ He ended almost wistfully.
Put like that, it seemed a ridiculous proposition. It was no part of my job as an agent of the British Government to meddle with the problems of land ownership in an independent ex-Crown Colony. But I thought of Nueva’s position on the globe – in certain circumstances control of its Atlantic coast might be of vital concern to Britain and her allies. The Prime Minister at least seemed to be on our side. I wasn’t being asked to act in any way – I was merely being asked to help in finding out some facts. Practically, though, could I be of any help? Why couldn’t the Prime Minister ask Edward Caval? Well, I could see that there might be reasons why he did not want to seem too interested. If I could meet the Caval man, it was possible that I might be able to talk to him. I didn’t rate the chances of learning anything important as being very high, but having come to Nueva I might as well have a go. I said that I thought I understood the position, and would do what I could to help, though the Prime Minister must recognise that I might easily achieve nothing.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But isn’t all life something of a gamble? I will arrange for you to meet Edward Caval. Let’s see – tomorrow, I think, you had better devote yourself to the Army. The day after tomorrow – yes, it is reasonable for you to have a rest after a strenuous day on parade. I’ll get Edward Caval to invite you to breakfast.’
‘Breakfast?’ I was a little startled.
He laughed. ‘You must learn to speak Nuevan English. Our breakfast is what you call your lunch, though it is usually a little earlier, around eleven thirty to noon. Our day begins early, you see, and we follow the hot-country habit of starting with no more than a cup of coffee and some fruit. The shops are all open by seven, and all Government offices by eight. Nothing much happens between eleven thirty and four o’clock in the afternoon – it is a time for breakfast, and going to sleep . . . Edward Caval takes no part in politics, but he likes to regard himself as our leading citizen, as, in a sense, he is. When we have a distinguished visitor I generally get Edward Caval to invite him to his house at Chacarima – he rather likes to be asked. Some time tomorrow there will be a note at your hotel inviting you to breakfast at Chacarima. You will enjoy the drive – it is no more than fifty miles or so, through some of our most spectacular countryside. I’ll send a car to pick you up at nine, which will allow ample time for the drive.’
