Christy Marine He used his name again, though it scalded his tongue.
Duncan, you're breaking my heart. I'll see you on the 27th of next
month, at the arbitration court. He dropped the receiver on to its
bracket, and moved across to the mirror, swiftly combing his hair and
composing his features, startled to see how hard and bleak his
expression was, and how fierce his eyes.
However, when he went through to the lounge of the suite, he was relaxed
and urbane and smiling.
All right, ladies and gentlemen. I'm all yours/ and one of the ladies
of the press, blonde, pretty and not yet thirty but with eyes as old as
life itself, took another sip of her whisky as she studied him, then
murmured huskily, I'll wouldn't mind at all, duckie. Golden Adventurer
stood tall and very beautiful against the wharf of Cape Town harbour,
waiting her turn to go into the dry dock.
Globe Engineering, the contractors who had been appointed to repair her,
had signed for her and legally taken over responsibility from Warlock's
First Officer. But David Allen still felt an immense proprietary pride
in her.
From Warlock's navigation bridge, he could look across the main harbour
basin and see the tall, snowy superstructure glistening in the bright
hot summer sunshine, towering as high as the giraffe-necked steel wharf
cranes; and in gloating self-indulgence, David dwelt on a picture of the
liner, wreathed in snow, half obscured by driving sleet and sea fume,
staggering in the mountainous black seas off Antarctica. It gave him a
solid feeling of achievement, and he thrust his hands deeply into his
pockets and whistled softly to himself, smiling and watching the liner.
The Trog thrust his wrinkled head from the radio room.
There's a call for you on the land-line/ he said, and David picked up
the handset.
David? Yessir. He drew himself to his full height as he recognized
Nicholas Berg's voice.
Are you ready for sea? David gulped, then glanced at the bulkhead
clock. We discharged tow an hour and ten minutes ago. Yes, I know. How
soon? David was tempted to lie, estimate short, and then fake it for
the extra time he needed. Instinct warned him against lying
deliberately to Nicholas Berg.
Twelve hours/ he said.
It's an oil-rig tow, Rio to the North Sea, a semi-submersible rig.
Yessir, David adjusted quickly, thank God he had not yet let any of his
crew ashore. He had arranged for bunkering at 1300, hours. He could
make it. When are you coming aboard, sir? I'm not/said Nick.
You're the new Master. I'm leaving for London on the five o'clock
flight. I won't even get down to shout at you. She's all yours, David.
Thank you, sir! David stuttered, feeling himself flush hot scarlet.
Bach Wackie will telex you full details of the tow at sea, and you and I
will work out your own contract later. But I want you running at top
economic power for Rio by dawn tomorrow.
Yessir. I've watched you carefully, David. Nick's voice changed,
becoming personal, warmer. You're a damn good tug-man. just keep
