Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (33 page)

‘
What's good enough for a lady blue whale is good enough for Samantha
Silver! There blows Moby Dick!
’

And Samantha was loving in the night,
with her hair brushed out carefully and spread over him, lustrous and
fragrant, a canopy of gold in the lamplight, and she kneeling astride
him in almost religious awe, like a temple maid making the sacrifice.

But more than anything else, Samantha was vibrant, bursting life - and
youth eternal.

Through her, Nicholas recaptured those emotions which he had believed
long atrophied by cynicism and the pragmatism of living. He shared her
childlike delight in the small wonders of nature, the flight of a gull,
the presence of the porpoise, the discovery of the perfect translucent
fan of papery nautilus shell washed up on the white sand with the rare
tentacled creature still alive within the convoluted interior.

He shared her outrage when even those re
mote and
lonely beaches were
invaded by an oil slick, tank washings from a VLCC out on the Agulhas
current, and the filthy clinging globules of spilled crude oil stuck to
the soles of their feet, smeared the rocks and smothered the carcasses
of the jackass penguins they found at the water's edge
.

Samantha was
life itself, just to touch the warmth of her and to drink the sound of
her laughter was to be rejuvenated. To walk beside her was to feel
vital and strong.

Strong
enough f
or the long days in the sea and sun, strong enough to
dance to the loud wild music half the night, and then strong enough to
lift her when she faltered and carry her down to their bungalow above
the beach, she in his arms like a sleepy child, her skin tingling with
the memory of the sun, her muscles aching deliciously with fatigue, and
her belly crammed with rich food.

‘
Oh Nicholas, Nicholas - I'm so happy I want to cry.
’

Then Larry Fry
arrived; he arrived on a cloud of indignation, red-faced and accusing as
a cuckolded husband.

‘
Two weeks
,’
he blared. London and Bermuda and St Nazaire have been
driving me mad for two weeks!
’
And he brandished a sheath of telex
flimsies that looked like the galley proofs for the Encyclopaedia
Britannica.

‘
Nobody knew what had happened to you. You just disappeared.
’
He ordered
a large gin and tonic from the white jacketed bar-tender and sank
wearily on to the stool beside Nick.
‘
You nearly cost me my job, Mr.
Berg, and that's the truth. You'd have thought I'd bumped you off
personally and dumped your body in the bay. I had to hire a private
detective to check every hotel register in the country.
’
He took a long,
soothing draught of the gin.

At that moment, Samantha drifted into the cocktail lounge. She wore a
loose, floating dress the same green as her eyes, and a respectful hush
fell on the pre-luncheon drinkers as they watched her cross the room.
Larry Fry forgot his indignation and gaped at her, his bald scorched
head growing shining under a thin film of perspiration.

‘
Godstrewth
,’
he Muttered.
‘
I'd rather feel that, than feel sick.
’
And then
his admiration turned to consternation when she came directly to
Nicholas, laid her hand on his shoulder and in full view of the entire
room kissed him lingeringly on the mouth.

There was a soft collective sigh from the watchers and Larry Fry knocked
over his gin.

‘
We must go now, today
,’
Samantha decided.
‘
We mustn't stay even another
hour, Nicholas, or we will spoil it. It was perfect, but now we must
go.
’
Nicholas understood. Like him she had the compulsion to keep
moving forward. Within the hour, he had chartered a twin-engined
Beechcraft Baron. It picked them up at the little earth strip near the
hotel and put them down at Johannesburg's Jan Smuts Airport an hour
before the departure of the UTA flight for Paris.

‘
I always rode in the back of the bus before
,’
said Samantha, as she
looked around the first-class cabin appraisingly.
‘
Is it true that up this end you can eat and drink as much as you like,
for free?
’

‘
Yes.
’
Then Nick added hastily,
‘
But you don't have to take
that as a personal challenge.
’
Nicholas had come to stand in awe of
Samantha's appetites.

They stayed overnight at the Georges V in Paris and caught the
midmorning TAT flight down to Nantes, the nearest airfield to the
shipyards at St Nazaire, and Jules Levoisin was there to meet them at
the Ch
a
teau Bougon field.

‘
Nicholas!
’
he shouted joyfully, and stood on tiptoe to buss both his
cheeks, enveloping him in a fragrant cloud of eau de Cologne and pomade.
‘
You are a pirate Nicholas, you stole that ship from under my nose. I
hate you.
’
He held Nicholas at arm's length.
’
I warned you not to take
the
job
, didn't I?
’

‘
You did, Jules, you did.
’

‘
So why do you make a fool
of me?
’
he demanded, and twirled his moustaches. He was wearing
expensive cashmere and an Yves St Laurent necktie; ashore, Jules was
always the dandy.

‘
Jules, I am going to buy lunch for you at La Rotisserie,
’
Nicholas
promised.

‘
I forgive you
,’
said Jules, it was one of his favourite eating-places -
but at that moment Jules became aware that Nicholas was not travelling
alone.

He stood back, took one long look at Samantha and it seemed that
tricolors unfurled around him and brass bands burst into the opening
bars of
‘
La Marseillaise'. For if dalliance was the national sport,
Jules Levoisin considered himself veteran champion of all France.

He bowed over her hand, and tickled the back of it with his still black
m
o
ustache. Then he told Nicholas, She is too good for you, mon petit, I
am going to take her away from you.
’

‘
The same way you did Golden
Adventurer?
’
Nick asked innocently.

Jules had his an
cient Citroen in the car park. I
t was lovingly waxed
and fitted with shiny gewgaws and dangling mascots. He handed Samantha
into the front seat as though it was a Rolls Camargue.

‘
He's beautiful
,’
she whispered, as he scampered around to the driver's
door.

Jules could not devote attention to both the road ahead and to Samantha,
so he concentrated solely upon her, without deviating from the Citron's
top speed, only occasionally turning to shout,
‘
Cochon!
’
at another driver
or jerk his fist at them with the second finger pointed stiffly upwards
in ribald salutation.

‘
Jules
’
great-
great-
grandfather charged with the Emperor's cavalry at Quatre
Bras
,’
Nick explained.
‘
He is a man without fear.

‘
You will enjoy La
Rotisserie,
’
Jules told Samantha.
‘
I can only afford to eat there when I
find somebody rich who wishes a favour of me.
’

‘
How do you know I want a
favour?
’
Nick asked from the back seat, clinging to the door-handle.

‘
Three telegrams, a telephone call from Bermuda
-
another from
Johannesburg
,’
Jules chuckled fruitily and winked at Samantha.
‘
You think
I believe Nicholas Berg wants to discuss old times? You think I believe
he feels so deeply for his old friend, who taught him everything he
knows? A man who treated him like a son, and whom he blatantly robbed
–‘
Jules sped across the Loire bridge and plunged into that tangled web of
narrow one-way streets and teeming traffic which is Nantes, a way opened
for him miraculously.

In the Place Briand, he handed Samantha gallantly from the Citron, and
in the restaurant he puffed out his cheeks and made little anxious
clucking and tut-tutting noises, as Nicholas discussed the wine list
with the sommelier
-
but he nodded reluctant approval when they settled on
a Chablis Moutonne and a Chambertin-Clos-de-
Be
ze, then he applied himself
with equal gusto to the food, the wine and Samantha, 'You can tell a
woman who is made for life and love, by the way she eats
,’
and when
Samantha made wide lascivious eyes at him over her trout, Nicholas
expected him to crow like a cockerel.

Only when the cognac was in front of them, and both he and Nick had lit
cheroots, did he demand abruptly:
‘
So, now, Nicholas, I am in a good
mood. Ask me.
’

‘
I need a Master for my new tug
,’
said Nick, and Jules
veiled his face behind a thick blue curtain of cigar smoke.

They fenced like masters of
epee
all the way from Nantes to St Nazaire.