He jumped down on to Golden Adventurer's steeply canted, ice-glazed deck
and saluted Warlock's bridge far below in a gesture of dismissal.
I tried to warn you, dearie, said Angel gently, as she entered the
steamy galley, for with a single glance he was aware of Samantha's
crestfallen air. He tore you up, didn't he? What are you talking
about? She lifted her chin, and the smile was too bright and too quick.
What do you want me to do? You can separate that bowl of eggs, Angel
told her, and stooped again over twenty pounds of red beef, with his
sleeves rolled to the elbows about his thick and hairy arms, clutching a
butcher's knife in a fist like that of Rocky Marciano.
They worked in silence for five minutes, before Samantha spoke again.
I only tried to thank him -, And again there was a grey mist in her
eyes.
He's a lower-deck pig, Angel agreed.
He is not/ Samantha came in hotly. He's not a pig., Well, then, he's a
selfish, heartless bastard - with jumped-up ideas. How can you say that
Samantha's eyes flashed now.
He is not selfish - he went into the water to get me! Then she saw the
smile on Angel's lips and the mocking quizzical expression in his eyes,
and she stopped in confusion and concentrated on cracking the egg shells
and slopping the contents into the mixing basin.
He's old enough to be your father, Angel needled her, and now she was
really angry; a ruddy flush under the smooth gloss of her skin made the
freckles shine like gold dust.
You talk the most awful crap, Angel., God, dearie, where did you learn
that language? Well, you're making me mad. She broke an egg with such
force that it exploded down the front of her pants.
Oh, shit! she said, and stared at him defiantly. Angel tossed her a
dish-cloth, she wiped herself violently and they went on working again.
How old is he? she demanded at last. A hundred and fifty?
He's thirty-eight/ Angel thought for a moment, or thirty-nine. Well,
smart arse/ she said tartly, the ideal age is half the man's age, plus
seven., You aren't twenty-six, dearie! Angel said gently.
I will be in two years time! she told him.
You really want him badly, hey? A fever of lust and desire? 'That's
nonsense, Angel, and you know it. I just happen to owe him a rather
large debt - he saved my life, - but as for wanting him, ha! She
dismissed the idea with a snort of disdain and a toss of her head.
I'm glad/ Angel nodded. He's not a very nice person, you can see by
those ferrety eyes of his - He has beautiful eyes - she flared at him,
and then stopped abruptly, saw the cunning in his grin, faltered and
then collapsed weakly on the bench beside him, with a cracked egg in one
hand.
Oh, Angel, you are a horrible man and I hate you. How can you make fun
of me now? He saw how close she was to tears, and became brisk and
businesslike.
First of all, you better know something about him and he began to tell
her, giving her a waspish biography of Nicholas Berg, embellished by a
vivid imagination and a wicked sense of humour, together with a
