so uncorseted, here it made him angry to see her do the same, and he
looked back into her eyes. Something charged there, a challenge
perhaps, his own anger reflected? He was not sure. She tilted her head
slightly, now it was invitation - or was it?
He had known and handled easily so many, many women.
Yet this one left him with a feeling of uncertainty, perhaps it was
merely her youth, or was it some special quality she possessed? Nicholas
Berg was uncertain and he did not relish the feeling.
David Allen hurried to her with another offering, and cut off the gaze
that passed between them, and Nick found himself staring at the Chief
Officer's slim, boyish back, and listening to the girl's laughter again,
sweet and high.
But somehow it seemed to be directed tauntingly at Nick, and he said to
the young officer beside him, Please ask Mr. Allen for a moment of his
time. Patently relieved the officer went to fetch him.
Thank you for your hospitality, David/said Nick, when he came.
You aren't going yet, sir? Nick took a small sadistic pleasure in the
Mate's obvious dismay.
He sat at the desk in his day cabin and tried to concentrate.
It was the first opportunity he had had to consider the paperwork that
awaited him. The muted sounds of revelry from the deck below distracted
him, and he found himself listening for the sounds of her laughter while
he should have been composing his submissions to his London attorneys,
which would be taken to the arbitrators of Lloyd's, a document and
record of vital importance, the whole basis of his claim against Golden
Adventurer's underwriters. And yet he could not concentrate He swung
his chair away from the desk and began to pace the thick,
sound-deadening carpet, stopping once to listen again as he heard the
girl's voice calling gaily, the words unintelligible, but the tone
unmistakable. They were dancing, or playing some raucous game which
consisted of a great deal of bumping and thumping and shrieks of
laughter.
He began to pace again, and suddenly Nick realized he was lonely. The
thought stopped him dead again. He was lonely, and completely alone. It
was a disturbing realization, especially for a man who had travelled
much of life's journey as a loner. Before it had never troubled him,
but now he felt desperately the need for somebody to share his triumph.
Triumph it was, of course. Against the most improbable odds he had
snatched spectacular victory, and he crossed slowly to the cabin
portholes and looked across the darkened bay to where Golden Adventurer
lay at anchor, all her lights burning, a gay and festive air about her.
He had been knocked off his perch at the top of the tree, deprived of a
life's work, a wife and a son - yet it had taken him only a few short
months to clamber back to the top.
With this simple operation, he had transformed Ocean Salvage from a
dangerously insecure venture, a tottering cash-starved, problem-hounded
long chance, into something of real value. He was off and running again
now, with a place to go and the means of getting there. Then why did it
suddenly seem of so little worth? He toyed with the idea of returning
to the revelry in the wardroom, and grimaced as he imagined the dismay
