“Who buys all this stuff?” I look around. “Is it just for people on the island?”
“No,” Axel says. “A lot of it gets sent across the archipelago, to tourist places like Bali and Lombok, and the other islands. And we get people coming here to learn traditional crafts. It’s quite a thriving business.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “The kind of place that would do well with tourists?” I shoot him a glance.
“Yeah.” He frowns. “Look, I’m not against tourists, you know that. What I’m against is exploitation.”
I did know. We’ve spoken about it, lying face to face in the darkness, our desires sated for the moment. I asked him why he was so against hotels on the island, when he was basically running one himself. But I got it, totally, when he explained. And I agreed. So many of our beautiful places are overrun with people now. It’s a difficult balancing act between making a living and preserving what makes a place so special in the first place. And even if they do get permission to build a hotel here, there’s no way I’m letting The Cave of the Waters get turned into some sort of spa.
So I’ve given him what I have. Money-wise, anyway. Told him I’d pledge my savings against the loan, to hopefully bolster his case. We need a lot of money, though; the land might only be listed at mid six figures, but Axel’s family have deep pockets and an axe to grind with their son. We need to be ready to beat any counteroffer they might make.
But here, in this tranquil place, this man at my side, it’s tough to stay worried for long. I let him lead me through the pavilions to one where craftspeople, mainly women, are working on looms, weaving colourful lengths of cloth. Others are applying wax designs to white fabric, then placing them in dye baths. Finished pieces are hanging from racks, drying in the sun.
“These are so beautiful,” I say, pausing at a piece of batik covered in patterns of flowers and insects.
“Each region has its own designs,” Axel says. “These motifs are specific to this island, made in small batches by hand. And the woven fabrics have specific uses and symbolism. Some are meant as blankets, others as shawls, and can denote social status.”
“Myles would love this,” I murmur, running a hand across a tightly woven piece of material, bright with colours.
“Myles Brandon?”
“Yeah.” I turn. “Didn’t you say you knew him?”
“I shaped a board for him, back when I was… well, you know. He seems like a decent guy.”
“He is,” I say. “Really decent. And he loves this kind of stuff.”
“This kind of stuff?”
“He and his wife, Zara, put together a line of homewares, but it’s all small batch stuff, made by hand by local artisans, all of whom are credited and paid a fair price. He doesn’t charge the earth for it, either. Zara and I worked together on some design stuff, as well. Like this shirt.” I motion to my T-shirt, which is organic cotton, sustainably sourced. “He’s big on preserving local heritage and customs.”
“Is he?” Axel seems unconvinced. “He also runs in the same circles as my parents. At least when he’s in New York.”
“I’m sure he’s not like th?—”
“Come and see this.” He takes my hand.
“This” is another small pavilion, nearby. Baskets hold scraps of fabric, offcuts from the batik workshop, I realise. Acouple of women are braiding and knotting them into bracelets and necklaces, adding beads and small charms. They’re gorgeous.
One of the women looks up as we walk in. My stomach lurches.
It’s Mish.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Axel
Hearing Jade mention Myles Brandon again takes me back to my old life, to that world of parties and privilege, of moneyed enclaves and high walls. Myles did seem pretty decent when I shaped his board, but it wasn’t long afterwards that everything fell apart, so I never got the chance to see him again.
It’s nice that Jade vouches for him, but I’m always cautious when wealthy people want to monetise traditional crafts. It needs to be done properly, and with respect. Again, I’ve no reason to think Myles would do any different, but I don’t know him. What I do know is the world he inhabits.
I don’t want to think about that, though. Not now, not when I could be enjoying this time with Jade. Every time I look at her it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time, her beauty as fresh and surprising as it was when she walked into my workshop and turned my life upside down.
It scares the shit out of me, how quickly things have changed. And how much she already means to me. I’m not fighting it, though. I can’t.
She’ll have to leave soon and then, hopefully, we’ll have some space to figure things out and see where they go next. But for now I’m going to make the most of every moment with her.
I feel, rather than see her tense when she recognises Mish. Shit. I’d forgotten she works here sometimes. Mish looks up, and her relaxed posture becomes immediately wary, her shoulders hunching. Like she’s trying to make herself smaller. And I realise she’s scared.