out slowly, each thinking his own thoughts.
'I think we've got a problem' said Jake at last, as he stared into the
fire.
'With me that condition goes back as far as I can remember,'
Gareth agreed politely. 'But apart from the fact that I am stuck in
the middle of a horrible desert, with savages and bleeding hearts for
company, with an army of Eyeties trying to kill me, broke except for a
post-dated cheque of dubious value, not a bottle of the old Charlie
within a hundred miles, and no immediate prospect of escape apart from
that, I'm in very good shape.'
'I was thinking of Vicky.'
'Ah!
Vicky!'
'You know that I am in love with her.'
'You surprise me.'
Gareth grinned devilishly in the flickering firelight. 'Is that why
you have been mooning around with that soppy look on your face,
bellowing like a bull moose in the mating season? Good Lord, I would
never have guessed, old boy.'
'I'm being serious, Gary.'
'That, old son, is one of your problems. You take everything too
seriously. I am prepared to offer odds of three to one that your mind
is already set on the ivy-covered cottage, bulging with ghastly
brats.'
'That's the picture,' Jake cut in sharply. 'It's that serious, I'm
afraid. How do we stand?' Gareth drew two cigars from his breast
pocket, placed one between Jake's lips, lit a dry twig from the fire
and held it for him.
The mocking grin dropped from his lips and his voice was suddenly
thoughtful, but the expression in his eyes was hard to read in the
uncertain firelight.
'Down in Cornwall, there's a place I know. A hundred and fifty acres.
Comfortable old farm house, of course. I'd have to do it up a bit, but
the cattle sheds are in good nick.
Always did fancy myself as the country squire, bit of hunting and
shooting in between tilling the earth and squirting the milk out of the
cows. Might even run to three or four brats, at that. With fourteen
thousand quid, and a whacking great mortgage bond, I could just about
swing it.' They were both silent then, as Jake poured the coffee and
doused the fire, and squatted again facing Gareth.
'It's that serious,' Gareth said at last.
'So there isn't going to be a truce? No gentlemen's agreement? 'Jake
murmured into his mug.
'Tooth and claw, I'm afraid,' said Gareth. 'May the best man win,
and we'll name the first brat after you. That's a promise.' They were
silent again, each of them lost in his own thoughts, sipping at the
mugs and sucking on their cheroots.
'One of us could get some sleep, 'said Jake at last.
'Spin you for it.' Gareth flipped a silver Maria Theresa dollar,
and caught it neatly on his wrist.
