the quarter-deck, and Angel pounced on her as she passed the galley.
,Where have you been? He was in a flutter, all wrists and tossing hair,
I've been beside myself, darling. What is it, Angel It's probably too
late already. What is it? She caught his urgency. Tell me. He's still
in town. Who? But she knew, they spoke of only one person in these
emotional terms.
Don't be dense, luv. Your crumpet. She hated it when he referred to
Nick like that, but now she let him go on.
But he won't be very much longer. His plane leaves at five o'clock, he
is making the local flight to Johannesburg, and connecting there for
London. She stared at him.
Well what are you waiting for? Angel keened. It's almost four o'clock
now, and it will take you at least half an hour to reach the airport.
She did not move. But, Angel/ she almost wrung her hands in anguish,
but what do I do when I get there? Angel shook his head and twinkled
his diamonds in exasperation. Sweet merciful heavens, duckie. Then he
sighed. When I was a boy I had two guinea pigs, and they also refused
to get it on. I think they were retarded, or something. I tried
everything, even hormones, but neither of them survived the shots. Alas,
their love was never consummated Be serious, Angel., You could hold him
down while I give Will a hormone shot I hate you, Angel. She had to
laugh, even in her anxiety.
Dearie, every night for the past month you have tried to set him on fire
with your dulcet silvery voice - and we haven't even passed "GO" and
collected our first $200. I know, Angel. I know. It seems to me,
sweetie, that it's time now to cut out the jawing and to ignite him with
that magic little tinderbox of yours. You mean right there in the
departure lounge of the airport? She clapped her hands with delight,
then struck a lascivious pose. 'I'm Sam - fly me! I Hop, poppet there
is a taxi on the wharf - he's been waiting an hour, with his meter
running. There is no first-class lounge in Cape Town's DF Malan
Airport, so Nicholas sat in the snake-pit, amongst the distraught
mothers and their whining, sticky offspring, the harassed tourists
loaded like camels with souvenirs and the florid-faced commercial
travellers, but he was alone in a multitude; with unconscious deference
they allowed him a little circle of privacy and he used the Louis
Vuitton briefcase on his knee as a desk.
It occurred to him suddenly how dramatically the balance had swung in
the last mere forty days, since he had recognized his wave peaking, but
had almost not been able to find the strength for it.
A shadow passed across his eyes, and the little creased crows foot
appeared between them as he remembered the physical and emotional effort
that it had taken to make the Go decision on Golden Adventurer, and he
shivered slightly in fear of what might have happened if he had not
gone. He would have missed his wave, and there would never have been
another.
With a small firm movement of his head, he pushed that memory of fear
behind him. He had caught his wave, and he was riding high and fast.
Now it seemed that the fates were intent on smothering him with
largesse: the oil-rig for Warlock, Rio to the Bravo Sierra field off
Norway - then a back-to-back tow from the North Sea through Suez to the
to the new South Australian field, would keep Warlock fully employed for
the next six months. That was not all, the threatening dockyard strike
at Construction Navale Atlantique had been smoothed over and the
delivery date for the new tug had come forward by two months - At
midnight the night before, a telephone call from Bach Wackie had
awakened him to let him know Kuwait and Qatar were now also studying the
iceberg-to-water project with a view to commissioning similar schemes;
he would have to build himself another two vessels if they decided to
go.
All I need now is to hear that I have won the football pools, -he
thought, and turned his head, started and caught his breath with a hiss,
as though he had been punched in the ribs.
She stood by the automatic doors, and the wind had caught her hair and
torn it loose from its thick twisted knot so that fine gold tendrils
floated down on to her cheeks - cheeks that were flushed as though she
had run fast, and her chest heaved so that she held one hand upon it,
fingers spread like a star between those fine pointed breasts.
She was poised like a forest animal that has scented the leopard,
fearful, tremulous, but not yet certain in which direction to run. Her
agitation was so apparent that he thrust aside his briefcase and stood
up.
She saw him instantly, and her face lit with an expression of such
unutterable joy, that he was halted in his intention of going towards
her, while she in contrast wheeled and started to run towards him.
She collided with a portly, sweating tourist, nearly flooring him and
shaking loose a rain of carved native curios and anonymous packets which
clattered to the floor around her like Ape fruit.
He snarled angrily, then his expression changed as he looked at her.
Sorry! She stooped swiftly, picked up a packet, thrust it into his
arms, hit him with her smile, and left him beaming bemusedly after her.
However, now she was more restrained, her precipitous rush calmed to
that long-legged thrusting hip-swinging walk of hers, and the smile was
a little uncertain as she pushed vainly at the loose streamers of golden
hair, trying to tuck them up into the twisted rope on top of her head.
I thought I'd missed you. She stopped a little in front of him.
Is something wrong? he asked quickly, still alarmed by her behaviour.
Oh no! she assured him hurriedly. Not any more/ and suddenly she was
awkward and coltish again. I thought/ her voice hushed, it was just
that I thought I'd missed you., And her eyes slid away from him. You
didn't say goodbye.- I thought it was better that way. And now her eyes
flew back to his face, sparking with green fire.
Why? she demanded, and he had no answer to give her.
I didn't want to -How could he say it to her, without making the kind of
statement that would embarrass them both?
Above them, the public address system squawked into life.
South African Airways announces the departure of their Airbus flight 235
to Johannesburg. Will passengers please board at Gate Number Two. She
had run out of time. I'm Sam - Fly Me! Please! she thought, and felt
the urge to giggle, but instead she said: Nicholas, tomorrow you'll be
in London - in midwinter. It's a sobering thought/he agreed, and for
the first time smiled; his smile closed like a fist around her heart and
her legs felt suddenly weak.
Tomorrow or at least the day after, I'll be riding the long sea at Cape
St Francis/ she said. They had spoken of that, on those enchanted
nights. He had told her how he had first ridden the surf at Waikiki
Beach long ago before the sport had become a craze, and it had been part
of their shared experience, part of their love of the sea, drawing them
closer together.
I hope the surf's up for you/ he said. Cape St Francis was three
hundred and fifty miles north of Cape Town, simply another beach and
headland in a shoreline that stretched in unbroken splendour for six
thousand miles, and yet it was unique in all the world. The young and
the young-at-heart came in almost religious pilgrimage to ride the long
sea at Cape St Francis. They came from Hawaii and California, from
Tahiti and Queensland, for there was no other wave quite like it.
At the departure gate, the shuffling queue was shortening, and Nick
stooped to pick up his briefcase, but she reached out and laid her hand
on his biceps, and he froze.
It was the first time she had deliberately touched him, and the shock of
it spread through his body like ripples on a quiet lake. All the
emotions and passions which he had so strenuously denied came tumbling
back upon him, and it seemed that their strength had grown a
hundred-fold while under restraint. He ached for her, with a deep,
yearning wanting ache.
Come with me, Nicholas/ she whispered, and his own throat closed so he
could not answer. He stared at her, and already the ground hostesses at
the gate were peering around irritably for their missing passenger.
She had to convince him and she shook his arm urgently, startled at the
hardness of the muscle under her fingers.
Nicholas, I really want/ she began, intending to finish, you to/but her
tongue played a Freudian trick on her, and she said, I really want you.,
Oh God/ she thought, as she heard herself say it, I sound like a whore/
and in panic she corrected herself.
I really want you to/ and she flushed! the blood came up from her neck,
dark under the peach of her tan so the freckles glowed on her skin like
flakes of gold-dust.
Which one is it? he asked, and then smiled again.
There isn't time to argue. She stamped her foot, feigning impatience,
hiding her confusion, then added, Damn you! for no good reason.
Who is arguing? he asked quietly, and suddenly, like magic, she was in
his arms, trying to burrow herself deeper and deeper into his embrace,
trying to draw all the an smell of him into her lungs, amazed at the
softness and warmth of his mouth and the hard rasp of new beard on his
chin and cheek, making little soft mewing sounds of comfort deep in her
throat as she clung to him.
Passenger Berg. Will passenger Berg please report to the departure
gate/ chanted the public address.
They're calling me/Nicholas murmured.
They can go right to the back of the queue,, she mumbled into his lips.
Sunlight was made for Samantha. She wore it like a cloak that had been
woven especially for her. She wore it in her hair, sparkling like
jewellery, she used it to paint her face and body in lustrous shades of
burnt honey and polished amber, she wore it glowing in golden freckles
on her cheeks and nose.
She moved in sunlight with wondrous grace, barefooted in the white sand,
so that her hips and buttocks roistered brazenly under the thin green
stuff of her bikini, She sprawled in the sunlight like a sleeping cat,
offering her face and her naked belly to it, so he felt that if he laid
his hands against her throat he would feel her purr deep inside her
chest.
She ran in the sunlight, light as a gull in flight, along the hard wet
sand at the water's edge, and he ran beside her, tirelessly, mile after
mile, the two of them alone in a world of green sea and sun and tall
pale hot skies. The beach curved away in both directions to the limit
of the eye, smooth and white as the snows of Antarctica, devoid of human
life or the scars of man's petty endeavours, and she laughed beside him
in the sunlight, holding his hand as they ran together.
They found a deep, clear rock pool in a far and secret place. The
sunlight off the water dappled her body, exploding silently upon it like
the reflections of light from a gigantic diamond, as she cast aside the
two green wisps of her bikini, let down the thick rope of her hair and
stepped into the pool, turning, knee-deep, to look back at him. Her
hair hung almost to her waist, springing and thick and trying to curl in
the salt and wind, it cloaked her shoulders and her breasts peeped
through the thick curtains of it.
Her breasts, untouched by the sun, were rich as cream and tipped in
rose, so big and full and exuberant that he wondered that he had ever
thought her a child; they bounced and swung as she moved, and she pulled
back her shoulders and laughed at him shamelessly when she saw the
direction of his eyes.
She turned back to the pool and her buttocks were white with the pinkish
sheen of a deep-sea pearl, round and tight and deeply divided, and, as
she bent forward to dive, a tiny twist of copper gold curls peeped
briefly and coyly from the wedge where the deep cleft split into her
tanned smooth thighs.
Through the cool water, her body was warm as bread fresh from the oven,
cold and heat together, and when he told her this, she entwined her arms
around his neck, I'm Sam the baked Alaska, eat me! she laughed, and the
droplets clung to her eyelashes like diamond chips in the sunlight.
Even in the presence of others, they walked alone; for them, nobody else
really existed. Among those who had come from all over the world to
ride the long sea at Cape St Francis were many who knew Samantha, from
and her preoccupation with the sea and the life of the sea had taken
her.
Hey, Sam! they shouted, dropping their boards in the sand and running
to her, tall muscular men, burned dark as chestnuts in the sun.
She smiled at them vaguely, holding Nicholas hand a little tighter, and
replied to their chatter absentmindedly, drifting away at the first
opportunity.
Who was that! It's terrible, but I can't remember - I'm not even sure
where I met him or when., And it was true, she could concentrate on
nothing but Nicholas, and the others sensed it swiftly and left them
alone.
Nicholas had not been in the sun for over a year, his body was the
colour of old ivory, in sharp contrast to the thick dark body hair which
covered his chest and belly. At the end of that first day in the sun,
the ivory colour had turned to a dull angry red.
You'll suffer/ she told him, but the next morning his body and limbs had
gone the colour of mahogany and she drew back the sheets and marvelled
at it, touching him exploringly with the tip of her fingers.
I'm lucky, I've got a hide like a buffalo/he told her.
Each day he turned darker, until he was the weathered bronze of an
American Indian, and his high cheek-bones heightened the resemblance.
You must have Indian blood, she told him, tracing his nose with her
finger-tip.
I only know two generations back/ he smiled at her.
I've always been terrified to look further than that. She sat over him,
cross-legged in the big bed and touched him, exploring him w
ith her
hands, touching his lips and the lobes of his ears, smoothing the thick
dark curve of his eyebrows, the little black mole on his cheek, and
exclaiming at each new discovery.
She touched him when they walked, reaching for his hand, pressing her
hip against him when they stood, on the beach sitting between his spread
knees and leaning back against his chest, her head tucked into his
shoulder - it was as if she needed constant physical assurance of his
presence.
When they sat astride their boards, waiting far out beyond the
three-mile reef for the set of the wave, she reached across to touch his
shoulder, balancing the board under her like a skilled horsewoman, the
two of them close and spiritually isolated from the loose assembly of
thirty or forty surf -riders strung out along the line of the long set.
This far out, the shore was a low dark green rind, above the shaded
green and limpid blues of the water. In the blue distance, the
mountains were blue on the blue of the sky and above them, the
thunderheads piled dazzling silver, tall and arrogant enough to dwarf
the very earth.
This must be the most beautiful land in the world, she said, moving her
board so that her knee lay against his thigh.
Because you are here, he told her.
Under them, the green water breathed like a living thing, rising and
falling, the swells long and glassy, sliding away towards the land.
Growing impatient, one of the inexperienced riders would move to catch a
bad swell, kneeling on the board and paddling with both hands, coming up
unsteadily on to his feet and then toppling and falling as the water
left him, and the taunts and friendly catcalls of his peers greeted him
as he surfaced, grinning sheepishly, and crawled back on to his board.
Then the ripple of excitement, and a voice calling, A three set! the
boards quickly rearranging themselves, sculled by cupped bare hands,
spacing out for running room, the riders peering back eagerly over their
dark burned shoulders, laughing and kidding each other as the wave set
bumped up on the horizon, still four miles out at sea, but big enough so
that they could count the individual swells that made up the set.
Running at fifty miles an hour, the swells took nearly five minutes,
from the moment when they were sighted, to reach the line, and during