Indian Ocean to the Atlantic in under ten minutes.
He saw the gathering, like vultures at the lion kill, as the Sikorsky
lowered to her roost on the helipad within the main harbour area of
Table Bay.
As Nick jumped down, ducking instinctively under the still-turning
rotors, they surged forward, ignoring the efforts of the Courtline
dispatcher to keep the pad clear; they were led by a big red-faced man
with a scorched looking bald head and the furry arms of a tame bear. ,
'Larry Fry, Mr. Berg, he growled. You remember me? Hello, Larry. He
was the local manager for Bach Wackie & Co, Nick's agents.
I thought you might say a few words to the Press. But the journalists
swarmed around Nick now, demanding, jostling each other, their camaras
firing flash bulbs.
Nick felt his irritation flare, and he needed a deep breath and a
conscious effort to control his anger.
All right, lads and ladies. He held up both hands, and grinned that
special boyish grin. They were doing a tough job, he reminded himself.
It couldn't be easy to be forced daily into the company of rich and
successful men, grabbing for tidbits, and being grossly underpaid for
your efforts with the long-term expectation of ulcers and cirrhosis of
the liver.
Play the game with me and I'll play it with you/ he promised, and
thought for a moment how it would be if they didn't want to speak with
him, how it would be if they didn't know who he was, and didn't care.
Where have you booked me? he asked Larry Fry now, and turned back to
them. In two hours time I'll be in my suite at the Mount Nelson Hotel.
You're invited, and there'll be whisky. They laughed and tried a few
more half-hearted questions, but they had accepted the compromise - at
least they had got the pictures.
As they went up the palm-lined drive to the gracious old hotel, built in
the days when space included five acres of carefully groomed gardens,
Nick felt the stir of memory, but he suppressed that and listened
intently to the list of appointments and matters of urgency from which
Larry Fry read. The change in the big man's attitude was dramatic. When
Nick had first arrived to take command of Warlock, Larry Fry had given
him ten minutes of his time and sent a deputy to complete the business.
Then Nick had been touched by the mark of the beast, a man on his way
down, with as much appeal as a leper.
Larry Fry had accorded him the minimum courtesy due the master of a
small vessel, but now he was treating him like visiting royalty,
limousine and fawning attention.
We have chartered a 707 from South African Airways to fly Golden
Adventurer's passengers to London, and they will take scheduled
commercial Rights to their separate destinations from there. What about
berthing for Golden Adventurer? The Harbour Master is sending out an
inspector to check the hull before he lets her enter harbour., You have
made the arrangements? Nick asked sharply.
He had not completed the salvage until the liner was officially handed
over to the company commissioned to undertake the repairs.
Courtline are flying him out now/ Larry Fry assured him.
