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Now, sitting companionably in the sunshine, their shoulders touched as they joined in.

‘Get up, stand up…’ Bob and his Wailers sang.

‘Are you beginning to like reggae music?’ Selwyn asked. His head nodded as he stared out to sea.

‘When I hear the words, I realise there’s a message in the songs.’ Jane munched on the last of her roti and took a swig of beer.

‘Bob Marley sang about tyranny and anger but in enticing tones to make his point,’ Selwyn replied. ‘This song is about human rights and fighting to secure them.’

Jane tilted her head to listen.

‘Chuck Berry was quoted as saying that “Get Up, Stand Up” was a battle cry for survival.’

‘Crikey, does the song make you feel like that?’

‘Yes, too many people struggle to survive in a world that takes so much for granted. I believe that everyone has the right to basic necessities, such as a proper roof over their heads and food on the table.’

‘Bob Dylan was my hero when I was young.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I thought that his songs were visionary and far-sighted. I used to lose myself listening to his albums.’

‘You talk in the past tense; did you stop listening?’

‘In college, I wore long cheesecloth dresses and Jesus sandals.’ Jane grinned. ‘The sight of me in an Afghan coat wasn’t the most popular look and I grew out of it, including the music. Earning money became a priority.’

Selwyn turned to look at Jane. ‘Money can’t buy life,’ he said.

Jane stared into eyes that shone like polished amber, and her heart missed a beat. ‘Wise words,’ she mumbled.

‘Not mine.’ Selwyn shook his head. ‘But the last sentence spoken by Bob Marley, to his son, before he passed.’

Jane was mesmerised. Sitting with this man, chatting freely, she felt like a spell had been cast. The moment felt monumental, and without thinking, her fingers reached out, almost touching Selwyn’s hand. But the spell was suddenly broken when Curtis appeared and said they must be on their way.

Jane watched Selwyn gather their belongings. She must pull herself together, she thought. If she wasn’t careful, their fledgling friendship would fall apart.

As Jane walked to the buggy, she wondered what was next. So far, the day had been perfect, and she was touched that he’d thoughtfully planned the outing. Every now and again, Jane had caught Selwyn looking at her and was amazed to discover that instead of shrinking away or becoming embarrassed, she liked the attention. Selwyn was wholly non-judgmental and never made her feel that her size was an issue.

On the contrary, he was complimentary and said that her swimsuit suited her and the glorious colours in the fabric of her dress made him feel light-hearted and happy. She learnt that his wife always wore dark shades and covered up with cardigans and shawls. It was the first insight Jane had into his marriage.

But Jane knew that her strange and bewildering feelings could only be one-sided. A man like Selwyn would never consider a relationship with someone like Jane. After all, his wife had recently died, and his holiday was merely a form of escapism from his grief.

Her adrenaline pumped up again as they climbed back into the buggy and sped along a muddy riverbed, the spray from the silt splashing them both. ‘That was brilliant,’ she told Selwyn when they reached Curtis’s vehicle and thanked the guide. ‘Are we heading back to the ship now?’

‘One more activity to go,’ he replied.

‘It looks like it’s going to pour down over there.’ Jane looked out to sea and pointed to the sky where dark clouds loomed in the distance.

‘We will be safely undercover.’ Selwyn reached out and wiped a spatter of mud from Jane’s cheek, then patted her knee. ‘Sit back and relax,’ he said, smiling.

It was all Jane could do not to grab his hand and hold it in her own. But fearing she’d be rejected, she nodded and turned away.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Kath and Anne returned to St John and found a restaurant near the pier where theDiamond Starwas docked. They were eating lunch with Bridgette and the Captain, ordering drinks and tucking into sharing plates of local delicacies. Kath stared at the food in the centre of the table and, again, wished that Jane was with them. With her culinary knowledge, she would have explained each dish.

‘What do you think this is?’ Kath asked as she studied balls of a light-coloured mix.

‘It’s fungi,’ Bridgette replied, ‘made of cornmeal and okra paste, a staple in the Antiguan diet.’

Kath pulled a face, ‘I’m not sure…’