Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (58 page)

‘
It's international, person to
person!
’
and Samantha's pulse raced; instantly forgotten was the host of
Spiral-coned sea snails.

‘
Nicholas!
’
she shouted happily, spilled half a pint of sea water down
the Australian's trouser leg and ran wildly to the small cubicle at the
end of the laboratory.

She was breathless with excitement as she snatched up the receiver and
she pressed one hand against her heart to stop it thumping.

‘
Is that Doctor Silver?
’

‘
Yes! It's me.
’
Then correcting her grammar,
‘
It
is she!
’

‘
Go ahead, please
,’
said the operator, and there was a click and
pulse on the line as it came alive.

‘
Nicholas!
’
she exulted.
‘
Darling Nicholas, is that you?
’

‘
No.
’
The voice
was very clear and serene, as though the speaker stood beside her, and
it was familiar, disconcert
i
ngly so, and for no good reason Samantha
felt her heart shrink with dread.

‘
This is Chantelle Alexander, Peter's mother. We have met briefly.
’

‘
Yes.
’
Samantha's voice was now small, and still breathless.

‘
I thought it would be kind to tell you in person, before you hear from
other sources - that Nicholas and I have decided to re-marry.
’

Samantha sat down jerkily on the office stool.

‘
Are you there?
’
Chantelle asked after a moment.

‘
I don't believe you,
’
whispered Samantha.

‘
I'm sorry,
’
Chantelle told her gently.
‘
But there is Peter, you see, and
we have rediscovered each other - discovered that we had never stopped
loving each other.
’

‘
Nicholas wouldn't
–‘
her voice broke, and she could
not go on.

‘
You must understand and forgive him, my dear
,’
Chantelle explained.
‘
After
our divorce he was hurt and lonely.
I'm sure he did not mean to take advantage of you.
’

‘
But, but - we were
supposed to, we were going to
-‘

‘
I know. Please believe me, this has not
been easy f
or any of us. For all our sakes-‘

‘
We had planned a whole
life together.
’
Samantha shook her head wildly, and a thick skein of
golden hair came loose and flopped into her face, she pushed it back
with a combing gesture.
’
I don't believe it, why didn't Nicholas tell me
himself? I won't believe it until he tells me.
’

Chantelle's voice was compassionate, gentle.
‘
I so wanted not to make it
ugly for you, my child, but now what can I do but tell you that Nicholas
spent last night in my house, in my bed, in my arms, where he truly
belongs.
’

It was almost miraculous, a physical thing, but sitting
hunched on the hard round stool Samantha Silver felt her youth fall away
from her, sloughed off
like a glittering reptilian skin. She was left
with the sensation of timelessness, possessed of all the suffering and
sorrow of every woman who had lived before. She felt very old and wise
and sad, and she lifted her fingers and touched her own not dried cheek,
mildly surprised to feel that the skin was and withered like that of
some ancient crone.

‘
I have already made the arrangements for a divorce from my present
husband, and Nicholas will resume his position at the head of Christy
Marine.
’

I
t was true, Samantha knew then that it was true.
There was no question, no doubt, and slowly she replaced the receiver of
the telephone, and sat staring blankly at the bare wall of the cubicle.
She did not cry, she felt as though she would never cry, nor laugh,
again in her life.

Chantelle Alexander studied her husband carefully, trying to stand
outside herself, and to see him dispassionately.
She found it easier now that the giddy insanity had burned away.

He was a handsome man, tall and lean, with those carefully groomed
metallic waves of coppery hair. Even the wrist that he shot from the
crisp white cuff of his sleeve was covered with those fine gleaming
hairs. She knew so well that even his lean chest was covered with thick
golden curls, crisp and curly as fresh lettuce leaves. She had never
been attracted by smooth hairless men.

‘
May I smoke?
’
he asked, and she inclined her head.
His voice had also attracted her from the first, deep and resonant, but
with those high-bred accents, the gentle softening of the vowel sounds,
the lazy drawling of consonants. The voice and the
patrician manner were
things that
she had been trained to appreciate - and yet,
under the mannered cultivated exterior was the flash of exciting
wickedness, that showed in the wolfish white gleam of smile, and the
sharp gl
ittering grey steel of his gaze.

He lit the custom-made
cigarette with the gold lighter she had given him - her very first gift,
the night they had become lovers, Even now, the memory of
it
was piquant,
and for a moment she felt the soft melting warmth in her lower belly and
she stirred restlessly in her chair
.
There had been reason, and good
reason for that madness, and even now it was over, she would never
regret it.

It had been a period in her life which she had not been able
to deny herself. The grand sweeping illicit passion, the last flush of
her youth, the final careless autumn that preceded middle age. Another
ordinary woman might have had to content herself with sweaty sordid
gropings and grapplings in anonymous hotel bedrooms, but not Chantelle
Christy. Her world was shaped by her own whims and desires, and, as she
had told Nicholas, whatever she desired was hers to take. Long ago, her
father had taught her that there were special rules for Chantelle
Christy, and the rules were those she made herself.

It had been marvel
l
ous, she shivered slightly at the lingering sensuality
of those early days, but now it was over.
During the past months she had been carefully comparing the two men. Her
decision had not been lightly made.

She had watched Nicholas retrieve his life from the gulf of disaster. On
his own, stripped naked of all but that invisible indefinable mantle of
strength and determination, he had fought his way back out of the gulf.
Strength and power had always moved her, but she had over the years
grown accustomed to Nicholas. Familiarity had staled their relationship
for her. But now her interlude with Duncan had freshened her view of
him, and he had for her all the novel appeal of a new lover - yet with
the proven values and qualities of long intimate acquaintance.
Duncan Alexander was finished, Nicholas Berg was the future.

But, no, she would never regret this interlude in her life.
It had been a time of rejuvenation, she would not even regret Nicholas
involvement with the pretty American child. Later, it would add a
certain perverse spice to her own sexuality, she thought, and felt the
shiver run down her thighs and the soft secret stirring of her flesh,
like the opening of a petalled rosebud. Duncan had taught her many
things, bizarre little tricks of arousal, made more poignant by being
forbidden and wicked. Unfortunately Duncan relied almost entirely on
the tricks, and not all of them had worked for her - the corners of her
mouth turned down with distaste as she remembered; perhaps it was just
that which had begun the curdling process.

No, Duncan Alexander had not been able to match her raw, elemental
sexuality and soaring abandon. Only one man had ever been able to do
that. Duncan had served a purpose, but now it was over. It might have
dragged on a little longer, but Duncan Alexander had endangered Christy
Marine. Never had she thought of that possibility; Christy Marine was a
fact of her life, as vast and immutable as the heavens, but now the
foundations of heaven were being shaken. His sexual attraction had
staled, she might have forgiven him that, but not the other.

She became aware of Duncan's discomfort. He twisted sideways in his
chair, crossing and uncrossing his long legs, and he rolled the
cigarette between his fingers, studying the rising spiral of blue smoke
to avoid the level, expressionless gaze of her dark fathomless eyes.
She had been staring at him, but seeing the other man, Now, with an
effort, she focused her attention on him.

‘
Thank you for coming so promptly,
’ she said.

‘
It did seem rather urgent.
’
He smiled for the first time, glossy and urbane - but with fear down
there in the cool grey eyes, and his tension was betrayed by the
clenched sinew in the point of his jaw.

Looking closely, as she had not done for many months, she saw how he was
fined down. The long tapered fingers were bony, and never still. There
were new harder lines to his mouth, and a frown to the set of his eyes.
The skin at the corners cracked like oil paint into hundreds of fine
wrinkles that the deep brown snow-tan hid from a casual glance. Now he
returned her scrutiny directly.

‘
From what you told me yesterday
-‘

She lifted her hand to stop him.
"That can wait. I merely wanted to impress you with the seriousness of
what is happening. What is really of prime importance now is what you
have done with control of my shares and those of the Trust.
’

His hands
went very still.
‘
What does that mean?
’

‘
I want auditors, my appointed
auditors, sent in
-‘

He shrugged.
‘
All this will take time, Chantelle,
and I'm not certain that I'm ready to relinquish control.
’

He was very
cool, very casual now and the fear was gone.

She felt a stir of relief, perhaps the horror story that Nicholas had
told her was untrue, perhaps
the danger was imaginary only.
Christy Mari
ne was so big, so invulnerable.

‘
Not just at the moment,
anyway.
You'd have to prove to me that doing so was in the best interest of the
company and of the Trust.
’

‘
I don't have to prove anything, to anyone,
’
she said flatly.

‘
This time you do. You have appointed me
-‘

‘
No court of law would uphold
that agreement.
’

‘
Perhaps not, Chantelle, but do you want to drag all
this through the courts - at a time like this
?’

‘
I'm not afraid, Duncan.
’
She stood up quickly, light on her feet as a dancer. the lovely legs in
loose black silk trousers, soft flat shoes making her seem still
smaller, a slim gold chain emphasizing the narrowness of the tiny waist.
‘
You know I'm afraid of nothing.
’
She stood over him, and pointed the
accuser's finger. The nails tipped in scarlet, the colour of fresh
arterial blood.
‘
You should be the one to fear.
’