bridge? it was a welcome distraction., and Nicholas hurried out into
the spring sunshine. Looking upwards, he could see Jules Levoisin on
the wing of the bridge. His portly figure foreshortened against the
open sky, like a small pugnacious rooster, he stood facing the
electronics engineer who was responsible for the installation of Sea
Witch's communications system, and Jules cries of Sacro bleu and Merdel
and Imbocile carried clearly above the cacophony of shipyard noises.
Nicholas started to run as he saw the engineer's arms begin to wave and
his strident Gallic cries blended with those of Sea Witch's new Master.
It was only the third time that Jules Levoisin had become hysterical
that day, however it was not yet noon. As the hour of launching came
steadily closer, so the little Frenchman's nerves played him tricks, he
was behaving like a prima ballerina awaiting the opening curtain. Unless
Nicholas reached the bridge within the next few minutes, he would need
either a new Master or a new electronics engineer.
Ten minutes later, Nicholas had a cheroot in each of their mouths.
The atmosphere was still tense but no longer explosive, and gently Nick
took the engineer by the elbow, placed his other arm around Jules
Levoisin's shoulders and led them both back into the wheelhouse.
The bridge installation was complete, and Jules Levoisin was accepting
delivery of the special equipment from the contractors, a negotiation
every bit as traumatic as the Treaty of Versailles.
I myself authorized the modification of the MK IV transponder/ Nicholas
explained patiently. We had trouble with the same unit on Warlock. I
should have told you, Jules. You should have, agreed the little Master
huffily.
But you were perceptive to notice the change from the specification/
Nicholas soothed him, and Jules puffed out his chest a little and rolled
the cheroot in his mouth.
I may be an old dog, but I know all the new tricks. He removed the
cheroot and smugly blew a perfect smoke ring.
When Nicholas at last left them chatting amiably over the massed array
of sophisticated equipment that lined the navigation area at the back of
the bridge, they were paging him from the site office.
What is it? he asked, as he came through the door.
It's a lady/ the foreman indicated the telephone lying on the littered
desk below the window.
Samantha, Nick thought, and snatched up the receiver.
Nicky. He felt the shock of quick guilt at the voice.
Chantelle, where are you? In La Baule. The fashionable resort town
just up the Atlantic coast was a better setting for Chantelle Alexander
than the grubby port with its sprawling dockyards.
'Staying at the Castille. God, it's too awful. I'd forgotten how awful
it was. They had stayed there together, once long ago, in a different
life it seemed now.
But the restaurant is still quite cute, Nicholas. Have lunch with me. I
must speak to you. I can't leave here. He would not walk into the trap
again.
It's important. I must see you. He could hear that husky tone in her
voice, imagine clearly the sensuous droop of the eyelids over those bold
