Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (54 page)

‘
It's jolly good to see you, Dad.
’

‘
I swear you've grown six inches!
’
said
Nicholas, and on impulse stooped and hugged the child.
For a moment they clung to each other, and it was Peter who pulled away
first.
Both of them were embarrassed by that display of affection for a moment,
then quite deliberately Nicholas placed his hand on Peter's shoulder and
squeezed.

‘
Where is the car?
’
He kept his hand on the child's shoulder as they
crossed the airport foyer, and as Peter became more accustomed to this
unusual gesture of affection, so he pressed closer to his father, and
seemed to swell with pride.

Characteristically, Nicholas wondered what had changed about him that
made it easier for him to act naturally towards those he loved.
The answer was obvious, it was Samantha Silver who had taught him to let
go.

‘
Let go, Nicholas-'
He could almost hear her voice now.

The chauffeur was new, a silent unobtrusive man, and there were only the
two of them in the back seat of the Rolls on the drive back through
Nice, and along the coast road.

‘
Mother has gone across to the Palace. She won't be back until dinner
time.
’

‘
Yes, she told me. We've got the day to ourselves,
’
Nicholas
grinned, as the chauffeur turned in through the electric gates and white
columns that guarded the entrance to the estate.
‘
What are we going to
do?
’

They swam and they played tennis and took Peter's Arrowhead-class
yacht Apache on a long reach up the coast as far as Menton and then
raced back, gull-winged and spinnaker set on the wind with the spray
kicking up over the bows and flicking into their faces. They laughed a
lot and they talked even more, and while Nicholas changed for dinner, he
found himself caught up in the almost post
-
coital melancholy of too much
happiness - happiness that was transitory and soon must end. He tried
to push the sadness aside, but it persisted as he dressed in a white
silk roll-neck and double-breasted blazer and went down to the terrace
room.

Peter was there before him, early as a child on Christmas morning, his
hair still wet and slicked down from the shower and his face glowing
pinkly from the sun and happiness.

‘
Can I pour you a drink, Dad?
’
he asked eagerly, already hovering over
the silver drinks tray.

‘
Leave a little in the bottle
,’
Nicholas cautioned him not wanting to deny
him the pleasure of performing this grown-up service, but with a healthy
respect for the elephantine tots that Peter dispensed in a sense of
misplaced generosity.

He tasted the drink cautiously, gasped, and added more soda, 'That's
fine
,’
he said, Peter looked proud, and at that moment Chantelle came
down the wide staircase into the room.

Nicholas found it impossible not to stare. Was it possible she had
grown more lovely since their last meeting or had she merely taken
special pains this evening?

She was dressed in ivory silk, woven gossamer fine, so it floated about
her body as she moved, and as she crossed the last ruddy glow of the
dying day that came in from the french windows of the terrace, the light
struck through the sheer material and put the dainty line of her legs
into momentary silhouette. Closer to him, he saw the silk was
embroidered with the same thread, ivory on ivory,
marvelous
understatement of elegance, and under it the shadowy outline of her
breasts, those fine shapely breasts that he remembered so well, and the
faint dusky rose suggestion of her nipples. He looked away quickly and
she smiled.

‘
Nicky
,’
she said,
‘
I'm so sorry to have left you alone.
’

‘
Peter and I have had a high old time!
’
he said.

She had emphasized the shape and size of her eyes, and the planes of the
bone structure of her cheeks and
j
awline, with a subtlety that made it
appear she wore no make-up, and her hair had a springing electrical fire
to it, a rich glowing sable cloud about the small head.
The honeyed ivory of her skin had tanned to the velvety texture of a
cream-coloured rose petal across her bare shoulders and arms.

He had forgotten how relaxed and gracious she could be, and this
magnificent building filled with its treasures standing in its pine
forest high above the darkening ocean and the fairy-lights of the coast
was her natural setting. She filled the huge room with a special glow
and gaiety, and she and Peter shared an impish sense of fun that had
them all laughing at the old well-remembered jokes
.

Nicholas could not
sustain his resentment, could not bring himself to dwell on her betrayal
in this environment, so the laughter was easy and the warmth
un-contrived.
When they went through to the small informal dining-room, they sat at
the table as they had done so often before; they seemed to be
transported back in time to those happy almost forgotten years.

There were moments which might have jarred, but Chantelle's instinct was
so certain that she could skirt delicately around these.
She treated Nicholas as an honoured guest, not as the master of the
house; instead she made Peter the host.
‘
Peter darling, will you carve
for us?
’
and the boy's pride and importance was almost overwhelming,
although the bird looked as though it had been caught in a
combine-harvester by the time he had finished with it.
C
hantelle served food and wine, a chicken stuffed in Creole style and a
petit Chablis, that had no special associations from the past; and the
choice of music was Peter's.
‘
Music to develop ulcers by
,’
as Nicholas remarked aside, to Chantelle.

Peter fought a valiant rearguard action to delay the passage of time,
but finally resigned himself when Nicholas told him,
‘
I'll come and see
you up to bed.
’
He waited while Peter cleaned his teeth with an
impressive vigour that might have continued beyond midnight if Nicholas
had not protested mildly. When at last he was installed between the
sheets, Nicholas stooped over him and the boy wrapped both arms around
his neck with a quiet desperation.

‘
I'm so happy
,’
he whispered against Nicholas neck and when they kissed he
crushed Nicholas lips painfully with his mouth ,
‘
Wouldn't it be fabulous
if we could be like this always?
’
he asked.
"If you didn't have to go away again, Dad?
’

Chantelle had changed the
wild music to the muted haunting melodies of Liszt, and as he came back
into the room she was pouring cognac into a thin crystal balloon.

‘
Did he settle down?
’
she asked, and then answered herself immediately.
‘
He's exhausted, although he doesn't know it.
’

She brought him the cognac and then turned away and went out through the
doors on to the terrace. He followed her out, and they stood at the
stone balustrade side by side.
The air was clear but chill.

‘
It's beautiful
,’
she said. The moon paved a wide silver path across the
surface of the sea.
‘
I always thought that the highway to my dreams.
’

‘
Duncan,
’
he said.
‘
Let's talk about Duncan Alexander
,’
and she shivered
slightly, folding her arms across her breasts and grasping her own naked
shoulders,
‘
What do you want to know?
’

‘I
n what terms did you give him
control of your shares?
’

‘
As an agent, my personal agent.
’

‘
With full discretion?
’
She nodded, and he asked next,
‘
Did you have an
escape clause? In what circumstances can you reclaim control?
’

‘
The dissolution of marriage,
’
she said, and then shook her head.
‘
But I think I knew that no court would uphold the agreement if I wanted
to change it. It's too Victorian.
Anytime I want to I could simply apply to have the appointment of Duncan
as my agent set aside.
’

‘
Yes, I think you're right
,’
Nicholas agreed.
‘
But
it might take a year or more, unless you could prove malafides, unless
you could prove he deliberately betrayed the trust of agency.
’

‘
Can I
prove that, Nicky?
’
She turned to him now, lifting her face to him.
‘
Has
he betrayed that trust?
’

‘
I don't know yet,
’
Nicholas told her cautiously,
and she cut in.

‘
I've made a terrible fool of myself, haven't I?
’
He kept silent, and she
went on tremulously,
‘
I know there is no way I can apologize to you for
what I did. There is no way that I can make it up to you, but believe
me, Nicholas please believe me when I tell you, I have never regretted
anything so much in all my life.
’

‘
It's past, Chantelle. It's over.
There is no profit in looking back.
’

‘
I don't think there is another man
in the world who would do what you are doing now, who would repay deceit
and betrayal with help and comfort. I just wanted to say that.
’

She was
standing very close to him now, and in the cool night he could feel the
warmth of her flesh across the inches that separated them, and her
perfume had a subtlety altered fragrance on that creamy skin. She
always wore perfume so well, the same way she wore her clothes.

‘
It's getting cold
,’
he said brusquely, took her elbow and steered her
back into the light, out of that dangerous intimacy.
‘
We still have a
great deal to discuss.
’

He paced the thick forest-green carpet, quickly
establishing a beat as regular as that of a sentry, ten paces from the
glass doors, passing in front of where she sat in the centre of the wide
velvet couch, turning just before he reached the headless marble statue
of a Greek athlete from antiquity that guarded the double oaken doors
into the lobby, and then back in front of her again. As he paced, he
told her in carefully prepared sequence all that he had learned from
Lazarus.

She sat like a bird on the point of flight, turning her head to watch
him, those huge dark eyes seeming to swell larger as she listened.

It was not necessary to explain it to her in layman's language, she was
Arthur Christy's daughter, she understood when he told her how he
suspected that Duncan Alexander had been forced to self-insure the hull
of Golden Dawn and how he had used Christy stock to buy re-insurance,
stock that he had probably already pledged to finance construction of
the vessel.