Hungry as the Sea (34 page)

He sat at ease, as though he were in his box at Ascot. His suit was of sombre gunmetal grey, but on him it seemed flamboyant and the I Zingari tie as rakish as any of Cardin’s fantasies.

Duncan turned that fine leonine head and looked directly at Nicholas again. This time Nicholas saw the deep angry glow in his eyes as when a vagrant breeze fans the coals of an open fire. Then Duncan turned his face back towards the President, and he balanced his thrusting square chin on the clenched, carefully manicured fingers of his right fist. “Furthermore, we have taken into consideration the transportation of the survivors from the site of the striking, to the nearest port of succour, Cape Town in the Republic of South Africa.” The President was summing up strongly in favour of Ocean Salvage. It was a dangerous sign; so often a judge about to deliver an unfavourable decision prefaced it by building a strong case for the loser and then tearing it down again.

Nicholas steeled himself, anything below three million dollars would not be sufficient to keep Ocean Salvage alive. That was the barest minimum he needed to keep
Warlock
afloat, and to put sea Witch on the water for the first time. He felt the spasm of his stomach muscles as he contemplated his commitments – even with three million he would be at the mercy of the Sheikhs, unable to manoeuvre, a slave to any conditions they wished to set. He would not be off his knees even.

Nicholas squeezed Samantha’s hand for luck, and she pressed her shoulder against his. Four million dollars would give him a fighting chance, a slim margin of choice - but he would still be fighting hard, pressed on all sides. Yet he would have settled for four million, if Duncan Alexander had made the offer. Perhaps Duncan had been wise after all, perhaps he might yet see Nicholas broken at a single stroke.

Three. Nicholas held the figure in his head. Let it be three, at least let it be three. “This Court has considered the written reports of the globe Engineering Co., the contractors charged with the repairing and refurbishing of
Golden Adventurer
, together with those of two independent marine engineering experts commissioned separately by the owners and the salvors to report on the condition of the vessel. We have also had the benefit of a survey carried out by a senior inspector of Lloyd’s of London. From all of this, it seems apparent that the vessel sustained remarkably light damage. There was no loss of equipment, the salvors recovering even the main anchors and chains –” Strange how that impressed a salvage court. We took her off, anchors and all, Nick thought, with a stir of pride.

“Prompt anti-corrosion precautions by the salvors resulted in minimal damage to the main engines and ancillary equipment -” It went on and on.

Why cannot he come to it now? I cannot wait much longer, Nicholas thought.

“This Court has heard expert opinion and readily accepts that the residual value of the
Golden Adventurer’s
hull, as delivered to the contractors in Cape Town can be fairly set at twenty-six million US dollars or fifteen million, three hundred thousand pounds sterling, and consideration of the foregoing, we are further of the firm opinion that the salvors are entitled to an award of twenty percent of the residual hull value –” For long cold seconds Nicholas doubted his hearing, and then he felt the flush of exultation burning on his cheeks.

“In addition, it was necessary to compute the value of the passage provided to the survivors of the vessel –” It was six – six million dollars! He was clear and running free as a wild albatross sweeping across the oceans on wide pinions.

Nicholas turned his head and looked at Duncan Alexander, and he smiled.

He had never felt so strong and vital and alive in his life before. He felt like a giant, immortal, and at his side was the vibrant young body pressing to him, endowing him with eternal youth.

Across the aisle, Duncan Alexander tossed his head, a gesture of dismissal and turned to speak briefly with his counsel who sat beside him. He did not look at Nicholas, however, and there was a waxen cast to his skin now as though it had a fine sheen of perspiration laid upon it, and the blood had drained away beneath the tan.

“Anyway, another few days and you’d probably have started to find me a boring dolly bird, or one of us would have had a heart attack.” Samantha smiled at him, a pathetic, lopsided little grin, nothing like her usual brilliant golden flashing smile. “I like to quit while I’m still ahead.”

They sat close on the couch in the Pan Am Clipper Lounge at Heathrow.

Nicholas was shocked by the extent of his own desolation. It felt as though he were about to be deprived of the vital forces of life itself, he felt the youth and strength draining away as he looked at her and knew that in a few minutes she would be gone.

“Samantha,” he said. “Stay here with me.”

“Nicholas,” she whispered huskily, “I have to go, my darling. It’s not for very long but I have to go.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because it’s my life.”

“Make me your life.”

She touched his cheek, as she countered his offer. “I have a better idea, give up
Warlock
and Sea Witch forget your icebergs and come with me.”

“You know I cannot do that.”

“No,” she agreed, “you could not, and I would not want you to. But, Nicholas, my love, no more can I give up my life.”

“All right, then, marry me/,” e said.

“Why, Nicholas?”

“So I don’t lose my lucky charm, so that you’d damn well have to do what I tell you.” And she laughed delightedly and snuggled against his chest.

“It doesn’t work like that any more, my fine Victorian gentleman. There is only one good reason for marrying, Nicholas, and that’s to have babies. Do you want to give me a baby?”

“What a splendid idea.”

“So that I can warm the bottles and wash the nappies while you go off to the ends of the oceans – and we’ll have lunch together once a month?” She shook her head. “We might have a baby together one day – but not now, there is still too much to do, there is still too much life to live.

“Dammit.” He shook his head. “I don’t like to let you run around loose. Next thing you’ll take off with some twenty-five year old oaf, bulging with muscles and –”

“You have given me a taste for vintage wine,” she laughed in denial. “Come as soon as you can, Nicholas. As soon as you have done your work here, come to Florida and I’ll show you my life.”

The hostess crossed the lounge towards them, a pretty smiling girl in the neat blue Pan Am uniform. “Dr. Silver? They are calling Flight 432 now.” They stood and looked at each other, awkward as strangers.

“Come soon,” she said, and then she stood on tiptoe and placed her arms around his shoulders. “Come as soon as you can.”

Chapter 21

Nicholas had protested vigorously as soon as James Teacher advanced the proposition.

“I don’t want to speak to him, Mr. Teacher. The only thing I want from Duncan Alexander is his cheque for six million dollars, preferably guaranteed by a reputable bank – and I want it before the 10th of next month.”

The lawyer had wheedled and lolled Nicholas along. “Think of the pleasure of watching his face – indulge yourself, Mr. Berg, gloat on him a little.”

“I will obtain no pleasure by watching his face, off hand I can think of a thousand faces I’d rather watch.”

But in the end Nicholas had agreed, stipulating only that this time the meeting should be at a place of Nicholas’ choice, an unsubtle reminder of whose hand now held the whip.

James Teacher’s rooms were in one of those picturesque stone buildings in the Inns of Court covered with ivy, surrounded by small velvety lawns, bisected with paved walkways that connected the numerous blocks, the entire complex reeking with history and tradition and totally devoid of modern comforts. Its austerity was calculated to instil confidence in the clients.

Teacher’s rooms were on the third floor. There was no elevator and the stairs were narrow, steep and dangerous. Duncan Alexander arrived slightly out of breath and flushed under his tan. Teacher’s clerk surveyed him discouragingly from his cubicle.

“Mr. who!” he asked, cupping his hand to one ear. The clerk was a man as old, grey and picturesque as the building. He even affected a black alpaca suit, shiny and greenish with age, together with a butterfly collar and a black string tie like that last worn by Neville Chamberlain as he promised peace in our time.

“Mr. who?” and Duncan Alexander flushed deeper. He was not accustomed to having to repeat his name.

“Do you have an appointment, Mr. Alexander?” the clerk inquired frostily, and laboriously consulted his diary before at last waving Duncan Alexander through into the spartan waiting-room.

Nicholas kept him there exactly eight minutes, twice as long as he himself had waited in the board room of Christy Marine, and he stood by the small electric fire in the fireplace, not answering Duncan’s brilliant smile as he entered.

James Teacher sat at his desk under the windows, out of the direct line of confrontation, like the umpire at Wimbledon, and Duncan Alexander barely glanced at him.

“Congratulations, Nicholas,” Duncan shook that magnificent head and the smile faded to a rueful grin. “You turned one up for the books, you truly did.”

“Thank you, Duncan. However, I must warn you that today I have an impossible schedule to meet, I can give you only ten minutes.” Nicholas glanced at his watch.

“Fortunately I can imagine only one thing that you and I have to discuss. The tenth of next month, either a transfer to the Bermuda account of Ocean Salvage, or a guaranteed draft by registered airmail to Bach Wackie.”

Duncan held up his hand in mock protest. “Come now, Nicholas – the salvage money will be there, on the due date set by the Court.”

“That’s fine,” Nicholas told him, still smiling. “I have no taste for another brawl in the debtors court.

“I wanted to remind you of something that old Arthur Christy once said –”

“Ah! of course, our mutual father-in-law.” Nicholas said softly, and Duncan pretended not to hear; instead he went on unruffled.

“He said, with Berg and Alexander I have put together one of the finest teams in the world of shipping.” The old man was getting senile towards the end. Nicholas had still not smiled.

“He was right, of course. We just never got into step.”

“My God, Nicholas, can you imagine if we had been working together, instead of against each other. You the best salt and steel man in the business, and I –”

“I’m touched, Duncan, deeply touched by this new and gratifying esteem in which I find myself held.”

“You rubbed my nose in it, Nicholas. Just as you said you would. And I’m the kind of man who learns by his mistakes, turning disaster to triumph is a trick of mine.”

“Play your trick now,” Nicholas invited. “Let’s see you turn six million dollars into a flock of butterflies.”

“Six million dollars and Ocean Salvage would buy you back into Christy Marine. We’d be on equal terms.”

The surprise did not show on Nicholas, face, not a flicker of an eyelid, not even a tightening of the lips, but his mind raced to get ahead of the man.

“Together we would be unstoppable. We would build Christy Marine into a giant that controlled the oceans, we’d diversify out into ocean oil exploration, chemical containers.” The man had immense presence and charm, he was almost – but not quite – irresistible, his enthusiasm brimming and overflowing, his fire flaring and spreading to light the dingy room, and Nicholas studied him carefully, learning more about him every second. “Good God, Nicholas, you are the type of man who can conceive of a venture like the
Golden Dawn
or salvage a giant tanker in a sub-zero gale, and I am the man who can put together a billion dollars on a wink and whistle. Nothing could stand before us, there would be no frontiers we could not cross.”

He paused now and returned Nicholas’ scrutiny as boldly, studying the effect of his words. Nicholas lit the cheroot he was holding, but his eyes watched shrewdly through the fine blue veil of smoke.

“I understand what you are thinking,” Duncan went on, his voice dropping confidentially. “I know that you are stretched out, I know that you need those six big M’s to keep Ocean Salvage floating. Christy Marine will guarantee Ocean Salvage outstandings, that’s a minor detail. The important thing is us together, like old Arthur Christy saw it, Berg and Alexander.” Nicholas took the cheroot from his mouth and inspected the tip briefly before he looked back at him.

“Tell me, Duncan,” the asked mildly, “in this great sharing you envisage, do we put our women into the kitty also?” Duncan’s mouth tightened, and the flesh wrinkled at the corners of his eyes.

“Nicholas,” he began, but Nicholas silenced him with a gesture.

“You said that I need that six million badly, and you were right. I need three million of it for Ocean Salvage and the other three to stop you running that monster you have built. Even if I don’t get it, I will still use it to stop you. I’ll slap a garnishee order on you by ten minutes past nine on the morning of the eleventh. I told you I would fight you and
Golden Dawn
. The warning still stands.”

“You are being petty,” Duncan said. “I never expected to see you join the lunatic fringe.”

“There are many things you do not know about me, Duncan. But, by God, you are going to learn – the hard way.”

Chantelle had chosen San Lorenzo in Beauchamp Place when Nicholas had refused to go again to Eaton Square, He had learned that it was dangerous to be alone with her, but San Lorenzo was also a bad choice of meeting-ground. It carried too many memories from the golden days. It had been a family ritual, Sunday lunch whenever they were in town. Chantelle, Peter and Nicholas laughing together at the corner table. Mara had given them the corner table again.

“Will you have the osso bucco?” Chantelle asked, peeping at him over the top of her menu.

Nicholas always had the osso bucco, and Peter always had the lasagne, it was part of the ritual, “I’m going to have a sole.” Nicholas turned to the waiter who was hovering solicitously. “And we’ll drink the house wine.” Always the wine had been a Sancerre; Nicholas was deliberately down-grading the occasion by ordering the carafe.