Her hair was drawn severely back to expose a long swan neck. The hair
was fine and silken, sun-bleached, in places, almost white and shaded
over her high broad forehead to the colour of wheat and autumn
leaves.
Gareth recovered first. 'Miss Camberwell, of course. I know your
work. Your column is syndicated in the Observer.' She looked at him
without expression, remarkably immune to the celebrated Swales smile.
Her eyes, he noticed, were serious and level, sage green in colour, but
shot with speckles of tawny gold.
Jake's match burned his fingers and he swore. She turned to him and he
stood up quickly.
'I didn't expect a woman.'
'You don't like women?' Her voice was pitched low and had a husky tone
that raised goose bumps on Jake's forearms.
'Some of my favourite people are women.' He saw that she was tall,
reaching almost to his shoulder, and that her body had a poised
athletic carriage. She held her head at a haughty angle which
emphasized the strong independent line of mouth and jaw.
'In fact, I can't think of anyone I like more.' And she smiled for the
first time. It had surprising warmth, and Jake saw that her front
teeth were slightly uneven one pushed out of line with the other. He
stared at it fascinated for a moment, then he looked up into the
appraising green eyes.
'Do you drive a car?' he asked seriously, and her smile turned to
surprised laughter.
'I do.' said Vicky, laughing. 'I also ride a horse and a bicycle,
I can ski, pilot an aeroplane, play snooker and bridge, sing, dance and
play the piano.'
'That will do,' Jake laughed with her. 'That will do just fine.' Vicky
turned back to the Prince. 'What is all this about,
Lij Mikhael?' she asked. 'Just what do these two gentlemen have to do
with our plans?' The towering purple hull of the Dunnottar Castle
swung slowly across the back-drop of palm trees and the high sun-gilded
ranges of cumulus cloud, as she pulled her anchors and came around for
the harbour entrance.
At the rail of the upper deck, the tall figure of the Prince was
flanked by the white-robed figures of his staff, and as the ship
increased speed and kicked up a white sparkling bow wave, he lifted an
arm in a gesture of farewell.
Swiftly, the shape of the liner dwindled away into the limitless
eastern ocean as she made her offing before turning northwards once
more.
The four figures on the wharf lingered after it had disappeared,
staring out at the horizon whose long sweep was uninterrupted except by
the tiny white triangular sails of the fishing fleet coming in off the
banks.
Jake spoke first. 'We'll have to find digs for Miss Camberwell. And
at the thought, both he and Gareth made a grab for her single battered
portmanteau and the typewriter in its leather case.
'Spin you for it,' suggested Gareth, and an East African shilling
