Chapter Twenty-Eight: Cheddar
“The islands can hold you in a spell that makes it very difficult to leave.”
• • •
Stuart tried to overcome the threat of possible nocturnal visitations by not falling asleep. He knew that if he closed his eyes and allowed slumber to overtake him he would become victim of his fears: the albino man, Norbert, the cheese-thief. The last time this had happened he had not returned to reality for a week. He had not experienced the kind of mental ‘click’ that George Harvey Bone was cursed by in Hangover Square, but he was still finding his own peculiar ‘dead’ moment was no less bewildering. He knew that he had to get away: from the beach camp, from the surfers, from these islands altogether. If he had had the nerve he would have left during the night, but his primitive instincts told him to beware the dark; told him to leave first thing the next morning. A new dawn, a new beginning. All he had to do was to stay awake. Keep alert. Stay awake and keep alert. Alert and awake. Awake. Awake.
It was already light by the time he woke, but a glance at his watch reassured himself that he had not greatly compromised his original plan of vacating the camp at the crack of dawn; of departing without so much as a fond farewell or a display of gratitude for hospitality provided. This way was best. Not quite a moonlit flit, but neither a backward glance.
His case was packed: he had barely opened it since regaining its possession, except to exchange the surfer’s garb that he had borrowed from Skin, for something from his own personal wardrobe. He was still dressed in the clothes that he had worn the previous day, he only had to slip on his trainers, put on his glasses and he was away. The invisible thread that still linked him with the accident on Bora Bora; the fine trail which he had left behind him, and which had been so skilfully hauled in by the pursuing arachnids, Norbert and Corrie, would be severed once and for all. Once he was back on Tahiti, or better still, further away - Auckland, Brisbane, he could go anywhere he chose - there would be nothing to fear. The web would be broken.
It was inevitable that Stuart would bump into someone: in the event, it was Jan. Jan, for his part, was equally surprised to see Stuart, but of the two men he was the first to regain his composure. No mean feat, considering he had been caught red-handed writing a message in the sand with a long stick, close to the place where the group had sat around the barbecue the previous evening.
Jan held up his hands in mock surrender, smiling, “Guess you knew it was me all along?”
Stuart walked towards him so that he could read the words that were being painstakingly spelled out in the firm, damp sand, “Cheddar. You can run but...”
“I haven’t finished.” said Jan.
“You cannot hide,” completed Stuart.
“Not my most original,” admitted Jan.
“I presume that I am Cheddar.”
Jan glanced from Stuart to the olive-green case which he had let slip from his hand and which stood upright beside him on the beach. “Always were, always will be. You know, I told you about that suitcase the day you arrived.”
“I remember,” said Stuart.
“You should have taken my advice,” said Jan, “You might have saved yourself a lot of hassle.”
“Really.” Stuart sounded scornful.
“Should have accepted my offer of a lift on Bora Bora too.”
“When?” Stuart was genuinely puzzled.
“Night of Tiurai. Stopped my motorcycle for you.”
“That was you?”
“Of course. Just think, if you’d taken the ride with me you’d have been safely back sleeping in your bed that night, rather than stuck out on a deserted beach trying to conceal a body.”
The two stood in silence for several seconds. The sky was becoming lighter, although the sun had not yet fully dragged itself from beneath the warm bedclothes of the far horizon. There was not a cloud in the sky. It looked as though it was going to be a calm day. The surfers would be pissed again.
“So what now?” Stuart asked.
Jan shrugged, “Why should there be anything now? You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“And you’ll let me?”
Jan looked surprised, hurt even. “I am not a monster. What do you think? This...” Jan waved his hand in the air, “was business. Just a means to earn enough money to allow me to keep living out here. If I run out of money I will have to go home. I am not ready to go back to Paris. To work.” He spat out the last word. “It was business. You leave the island and my business with you is over.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. What is your English expression? There are other fish to fry. Is that right?”
“Yes, but what about Stefan?”
“The stiff?”
Stuart squirmed at the graphic description. “Yes.”
“What do I care about him. He’s not in any position to fund me.”
“Neither am I,” said Stuart, mentally calculating his proposed daily subsistence rates.
“I quickly realised that,” said Jan. “Your Swiss friend was a different proposition, though.”
“Oh?”
“Plenty of francs there and happy to hand them over to pay for his reputation.” Jan continued, “You should be more worried of him than you should of me, my friend. That man will stop at nothing to make sure that his name is kept in the clear. You know what I mean?”
“Yes,” Stuart was nodding, thoughtfully.
Jan was more light-hearted, “You had a girlfriend as good-looking as all that, you’d probably want to do the same, non?” The last word was the only lapse into his native language.
Stuart’s mind was beginning to make associations, “That was you yesterday with the albino.”
“Where did you see us?” Jan looked slightly annoyed.
“At the burial place.”
“Maeva?”
“That’s right. You were talking about Courtney.”
“The American? Oh yes, of course. I forgot that you all arrived together.”
“What has happened to her?”
“Nothing so very much different to a lot of young people who come to the islands. You are looking for a little romance, non?”
Stuart remained silent, perhaps aware of the truth of Jan’s words. The Frenchman continued, “Your American friend was perhaps a little foolish. A little naïve.” They would not have been two words that Stuart would have associated with the street-savvy woman of his recollection.
“Go on.” Stuart was conscious that the sky was getting considerably lighter, and he had no intention of still being around the campsite by the time the surfers woke up, but he was intrigued to hear Jan’s story. He appeared to be the most likely candidate to be able to answer certain questions that had puzzled Stuart since his arrival on the islands.
“Ice can be very attractive to some women. I do not understand it myself, but...” Jan smiled.
“Ice? The albino?”
“Of course. I thought you had put two and two together last night. I would not have resorted to this charade...” Jan waved his arm at the writing on the beach, “but I presumed that you had guessed my, what? Identity.”
“And so you blackmailed Courtney in the same way as the rest of us?”
“I believe there may have been some photographs taken that she would have preferred not to have been made generally available.”
“So you and Ice are partners?”
“Not partners exactly. He works for me occasionally. It is a ... how you say? Mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“The cheese-thief.” It was not a question as such, but Jan must have picked up an intonation of puzzlement in Stuart’s voice, because he felt compelled to explain.
“I know, I know. It is embarrassing. But what can I do? If this is how people come to know me. It wasn’t me that came up with the name.”
“How did it all start?” Stuart was genuinely interested. The figure of the cheese-thief had been
a piece of island lore that had followed him throughout his travels so far. He could not pass up the opportunity to learn the truth behind the myth. When Jan seemed less than willing to continue, Stuart coaxed, “You have said so much already. I am leaving, what can I do? Besides, you know enough about me already. You keep your silence, I’ll keep mine. I would just like to know how it all began.”
Jan relaxed, “As I say, it was just business. You have seen for yourself what it is like out here. It is paradise but at a cost. The prices they are very dear. The jobs they are very scarce. I picked up odd jobs around the hotels, like when I met you, you know, meeting people at the airport, acting as a rep for some of the resorts. These places would give you free accommodation in exchange but that was about it. Anyhow, I did not want to be working. I could work in France, I came out here to get away from all that.”
“So you hit upon blackmail?”
“These islands are full of secrets. People escaping pasts they do not wish to be made public. Travellers, like you, a long way from home, you do foolish things, things you would not dream of doing if you were in your own country, things you might regret later. Things you will pay to have concealed.”
“Stefan’s death must have been a dream ticket for you.”
Jan shrugged, “You’d be surprised. There are plenty of worse crimes.”
“But why the cheese-thief?”
“It was an accident, really. It was soon after I came out here, I mean Huahine, you know, this is where I live most of the time now. There was a young Australian guy, he... well I don’t need to tell you the trouble he got into, just let me say that I wanted to leave a message for him, somewhere where I knew he would find it. I couldn’t get to his luggage without risking being caught, so his food seemed like the next best thing. You know how these hostels are set up, everyone tries to keep their own food to themselves, it was a sure thing that he would find my note if it was left with his provisions.”
“Specifically his cheese.”
“Not even that, but you know how these things start.”
“So you became labelled the cheese-thief.”
“Not very flattering, huh. But it was effective, and it concealed the real reason certain people were being targeted. I mean, better to say that you had been visited by the cheese-thief, rather than that you had received a demand note for monies in order that a personal secret was not made public.”
“Clever.”
“And lucrative. After all, I’m still living here, aren’t I.”
“What for?”
Jan didn’t understand the question, “I’m sorry.”
“Surely earning your living as a blackmailer here can’t be any better than doing a regular job back home.”
Jan looked around him and Stuart was compelled to follow his gaze. The sun was gradually infusing the landscape with the bright colours of the day. The sea licked lightly across the land, leaving a damp tongue print on the sand to reveal where it had lingered. Two palm trees rustled as though in conversation and the earliest bird of the day soared high in the morning sky, flying in circular orbits, rising ever higher, becoming ever smaller.
Stuart said “I’ve got to go,” and picked up his suitcase, not allowing Jan the opportunity to answer his question. He had taken a dozen or so strides away before he glanced back, but Jan was not looking. The big Frenchman was still rapt in contemplation of the early-morning scene. Stuart knew what would have been his answer.