CHAPTER ONE #2
The four long years that Sage had been at Finca Azucar had been extremely isolated.
It had started with small things, like Santiago insisting he always do the driving.
But then as time went on neither Santiago nor Lucilla had allowed Sage to drive any of their three cars, claiming the roads were too dangerous.
Sage had not wanted to get a job as she had refused to have a nanny raise their son, so she spent all day caring for Hal, and the tasks that would take her out of the house, which was miles away from anywhere, and into town were increasingly delegated to the staff instead.
This meant she was perennially strapped for cash, as Santiago kept a tight hold on the purse strings, and it had become increasingly difficult for her to leave the plantation.
Lucilla would send the staff home if Sage and Santiago ever planned to go out for an evening so that there was no one to look after Hal and then Lucilla would go with Santiago herself, leaving Sage alone to look after the sleeping child.
Sage had spent much of her time in Panama aching from loneliness and longing to go back to England, but Santiago’s increasing violence lately had made her homesickness almost palpable.
A few months ago, Sage had again raised the idea of a trip back home so that Hal could meet his great-grandparents again.
The bruises on her wrist had taken weeks to fade.
Then two weeks ago, Sage had found Santiago passed out on the veranda.
He had been out all night and found the house locked up when he got back in the small hours so he had slept outside on one of the sofas.
Sage had tried to wake him up the next morning, not wanting Hal to see his father in such a booze-addled state.
When he had not woken up she had, as a last and desperate measure, poured a jug of water over him and he had gone ballistic, shoving her into the wall, pulling her hair, breaking her mobile phone and spitting in her face.
Sage had been seriously frightened. The Santiago she had once loved was now unrecognizable.
That had been a pivotal moment for her, the catalyst that proved her marriage was not worth persevering with.
She knew she had to get Hal away from Panama, and last night had just consolidated her plans and made her determined to move faster.
She climbed the dark wooden staircase, taking care to avoid the steps that creaked, and as she reached her room, she saw that the door was open.
Her heart began to thump in her chest as adrenaline coursed through her veins.
If Lucilla were in there, it would mean some sort of confrontation.
She could not remember her mother-in-law ever having entered her bedroom before.
She gently pushed against the door and stepped into the room with trepidation.
Her pulse quickened as she saw Lucilla sitting on the bed, staring down at the sleeping form of Hal, his golden limbs loose and wrapped around the white sheets, his blonde mop of hair tousled upon his brown forehead, his full lips slightly open.
It was still only half past six and Sage wanted to let him sleep for as long as possible after the trauma of yesterday, so she turned back to the door, knowing that Lucilla would follow in pursuit of her quarry.
She padded softly down the stairs, through the dark maze of corridors and into the musty kitchen; then, with a thrust of her hip against the swollen wood that always caused it to stick, she pushed open the back door and stepped outside.
Sage loved the kitchen garden; it was an untamed jungle full of colour, where the green and pink bougainvillea climbed up the hanging vines like the roots of the bearded fig trees, and where mischievous green monkeys chattered and threw mango stones at each other from the roofs of the greenhouses.
A deep natural gully lay beyond the vegetable patch, where poisonous manchineel trees grew in the brackish water of the mangroves leading down towards the ocean and the delicate early blossom on the pink trumpet trees that hung above them grew on the banks like soft candyfloss clouds.
Papaya trees stood sentinel around the garden, luring the wild birds away from the vegetables with their generous offerings of fruit.
Hal had grown up playing happily out there with Sage.
It had served as a kind of sanctuary for them, for Lucilla and Santiago rarely ventured into the kitchen garden, preferring instead the straight lines of the manicured lawns on the west side of the house, where the pool and tennis courts could be found.
Inhaling a jagged breath of sweet, earthy air, Sage turned around as she heard Lucilla’s footsteps coming determinedly through the kitchen.
She resolutely raised her chin, readying for battle.
Lucilla had been a relatively unremarkable middle-aged American woman before her dashing husband Juan had left her, a little overweight perhaps but attractive and usually dressed in expensive but outdated clothes as Juan had eventually managed to get through all of her money on fast living.
Since the divorce three years earlier, she had lost almost three stone and cut her black hair to a short crop that now stood up in spikes and made her look like a furious, startled raven.
She was wearing a frilled white shirt and a pair of ludicrously tight red cycling shorts; these accentuated her newly defined thighs although Sage could not help noticing that Lucilla’s skin now hung off her bones, reminding her of the turkey that had become a pet after her grandmother had given it a reprieve one Christmas when she was a child.
Sage had initially tried hard to connect with the older woman – she had felt desperately sad for her losing her husband – but Lucilla had spurned any show of affection or kindness.
She had poured cups of tea that Sage had made her down the sink while Sage had watched.
She had given away birthday and Christmas gifts, which Sage had painstakingly chosen for her, to the staff.
Lucilla would pretend she did not hear Sage talking and just speak over the top of her as though she was not there.
Sage’s instinct was that while grief had worsened her behaviours, Lucilla had always had a mean streak. Finally, Sage had given up trying.
She decided to get straight to the point, feeling almost liberated by fear and emboldened by adrenaline.
‘Lucilla, I can’t stay here any more. Hal and I are leaving Finca Azucar. We are leaving the island entirely. We are going home as soon as I can get us a flight on the mainland. I really need our passports.’
Having started in a hushed tone, her voice quickly became louder and slightly shrill, and her amber eyes filled with tears as she looked at Lucilla and wrung her hands together in anguish.
A more compassionate person would have taken pity on the young mother with worry etched into the lines of her open, pretty face, but Lucilla was not a kind-hearted woman.
Instead, she impatiently reached out her hand and hooked a long finger around the arm of Sage’s dark glasses, causing Sage to flinch slightly as she pulled them off.
‘Lotta. I mean – Sage,’ she began, wrinkling her upturned nose and drawing out the word to make it sound like an insult, ‘you may leave by all means. Go ahead, but Santiago and I will not allow you to take the child. And you will not upset Santiago, not again.’
Sage almost laughed but the hypocrisy stuck painfully in her throat, making her cough instead, and tears started to roll down her cheeks in protest. Yesterday, Santiago had been totally out of control, his behaviour had been inexcusable – and both Sage and Lucilla knew it.
Forcing herself to avoid a futile sparring match, she gulped back the unfairness of Lucilla’s words.
She would have to find another way. As she turned to go back into the house she heard Lucilla hiss, ‘You won’t get a penny from us, do you hear?
When you leave this house, that will be the end of it – once and for all. ’
Lucilla watched her daughter-in-law with narrowed eyes, hoping her message was clear. She and Santiago were a team: one that would triumph.
‘Is that what you think? That it’s money I care about? I don’t want anything from you, Lucilla – or from Santiago. If you just let us go in peace, I won’t ask for anything else. I promise. It’s what we both know that you really want. Now you can have Santiago all to yourself.’
Lucilla regarded Sage shrewdly. ‘I hope you aren’t lying, Sage. I always thought he could have done better.’ Her voice was cold. ‘Your passports are in the office. Top drawer of the filing cabinet, next to mine and Santiago’s. Take yours and the child’s, and go.’
Tiredly, Sage again turned away from the harsh morning light and trudged back up the already warm stone steps, across which shadows cast by the tall cabbage palms lengthened into zigzags on the path up to the house, returning inside to wake Hal and get him ready for the long journey home.
She wanted to pack and leave for the mainland as soon as possible – before Santiago had a chance to regain consciousness.
As she passed the imprisoned parrot, who was whistling nonsensically with boredom and shuffling half-heartedly about the small enclosure, Sage glanced over her shoulder to check no one was watching; then, allowing herself to do something she had yearned to for years, she opened the ornate wire cage.
‘Be free,’ she whispered as the incredulous bird, his eyes bright with hope, hopped towards the wide-open door.