by Wilbur Smith
that time Samantha. had a little ritual of preparation, First, she
hoisted the bottom of her bikini which had usually slipped down to
expose a pair of dimples and a little of the deep cleft of her buttocks,
then she tightened her top hamper, pulling open the brassiere of her
costume and cupping each breast in turn, settling it firmly in its
sheath of thin green cloth, grinning at Nick as she did it.
You're not supposed to watch. I know, it's bad for my heart. Then she
plucked out a pair of hairpins and held them in her mouth as she twisted
the wrist-thick plait of hair tighter until it hung down between her
shoulder blades and pinned back the wisps over her ears.
All set? he called, and she nodded and answered, Ride three? The third
wave in the set was traditionally the big one, and they let the first
one swing them high and drop them again into its trough. Half the other
riders were up and away, only their heads still visible above the peak
of the wave, the land obscured by the moving wall of water.
The second wave came through, bigger, more powerful, but swooping up and
over the crest and most of the other riders went on it, two or three
tumbling on the steep front of water, losing their boards, dragged under
as the ankle lines came up taut.
Here we go! exulted Samantha, and three came rustling, green and
peaking, and in the transparent wall of water four big bottle-nosed
porpoises were framed, in perfect motion, racing in the wave, pumping
their flat delta shaped tails and grinning that fixed porpoise grin of
delight.
Oh look! sang Samantha. Just look at them, Nicholas! Then the wave
was upon them and they sculled frantically, weight high on the board,
the heart-stopping moment when it seemed the water would sweep away and
leave them, then suddenly the boards coming alive under them and
starting to run, tipping steeply forward, with the hiss of the waxed
fibre-glass through the water.
Then they were both up and laughing in the sunlight, dancing the
intricate steps that balanced and controlled the boards, lifted high on
the crest, so they could see the sweep of the beach three miles ahead,
and the ranks of other riders on the twin waves that had gone before
them.
One of the porpoises frolicked with them on the racing crest, ducking
under the flying boards, turning on its side to grin up at Samantha, so
she stooped and stretched out a hand to touch him, lost her balance, and
almost fell while the porpoise grinned at her mischievously and flipped
away to rise fill up on her far side.
Now, out on their right hand, the wave was feeling the reef and starting
to curl over on itself, the crest arching for-wards, holding that lovely
shape for long moments, then slowly collapsing.
Go left/ Nick called urgently to her, and they kicked the boards around
and danced up on to the stubby prows, bending at the knees to ride the
hurtling craft, their speed rocketing as they cut across the green face
of the wave, but behind them the arching wave spread rapidly towards
them, faster than they could run before it.
Now at their left shoulders, the water formed a steep vertical wall,
and, glancing at it, Samantha found the porpoise swimming head-high
beside her, his great tail pumping; powerfully, and she was afraid, for
the majesty and strength of that wave belittled her.
Nicholas! she screamed, and the wave fanned out over her head, arcing
across the sky, cutting out the sunlight, and now they flew down a long
perfectly rounded tunnel of roaring water. The sides were smooth as
blown glass, and the light was green and luminous and weird as though
they sped through a deep submarine cavern, only ahead of them was the
perfect round opening at the mouth of the tunnel - while behind her,
close behind her, the tunnel was collapsing in a furious thunder of
murderous white water, and she was as terrified and as exulted as she
had ever been in her life.
He yelled at her, We must beat the curl and his voice was far away and
almost lost in the roar of water, but obediently she went forward on her
board until all her bare toes were curled over the leading edge.
For long moments they held their own, then slowly they began to gain,
and at last they shot out through the open mouth of the tunnel into the
sunlight again, and she laughed wildly, still high on the exultation of
fresh terror.
Then they were past the reef and the wave firmed up, leaving the white
water like lace on the surface far behind.
Let's go. right! Samantha sang out to stay within the good structure
of the wave, and they turned and went back, swinging across the steep
face. The splatter of flung water sparkled on her belly and thighs, and
the plait of her hair stood out behind her head like the tail of an
angry lioness, her arms were extended and her hands held open,
unconsciously making the delicate finger gestures of a Balinese temple
dancer as she balanced; and miraculously the porpoise swam, fill up,
beside her, following like a trained dog.
Then at last, the wave felt the beach and ran berserk, tumbling wildly
upon itself, booming angrily, and churning the sand like gruel, and they
kicked out of the wave, falling back over the crest and dropping into
the sea beside the bobbing boards, laughing and panting at each other
with the excitement and terror and the joy of it.
Samantha was a sea-creature with a huge appetite for the fruits of the
sea, cracking open the crayfish legs in her fingers and sucking the
white sticks of flesh into her mouth with a noisy sensuality, while her
lips were polished with butter sauce, not taking her eyes from his face
as she ate.
Samantha in the candlelight gulping those huge Knysna oysters, and then
slurping the juice out of the shells.
You're talking with your mouth full. It's just that I've still got so
much to tell you, she explained.
Samantha was laughter, laughter in fifty different tones and
intensities, from the sleepy morning chortle when she awoke and found
him beside her, to the wild laughter yelled from the crest of a racing
wave.
Samantha was loving. With a face of thundering innocence and the
virginal, guileless green eyes of a child, she combined hands and a
mouth whose wiles and wicked cunning left Nick stunned and disbelieving.
The reason I ran away without a word was that I did not want to have
your ravishment and violation on my conscience/ he shook his head at her
disbelievingly.
I wrote my PhD thesis in those subjects/ she told him blithely, using
her forefinger to twist spit-curls in his sweat-dampened chest hairs.
And what's more, buster, that was just the introductory offer - now we
sign you up for a full course of treatment. Her delight in his body was
endless, she must touch and examine every inch of it, exclaiming and
revelling in it without a trace of self-consciousness, holding his hand
in her lap and bending her head studiously over it, tracing the lines of
his palm with her fingerna
il.
You are going to meet a beautiful wanton blonde, give her fifteen babies
and live to be a hundred and fifty. She touched the little chiselled
lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth with the tip of
her tongue, leaving cool damp smears of saliva on his skin.
I always wanted a real craggy man all for myself., Then, when her
examination became more intimate and clinical and he demurred, she told
him severely, Hold still, this is a private thing between me and
himself. Then a little later.
Oh wow! He's real poison! Poison? the demanded, his manhood
denigrated.
Poison, she sighed. Because he just slays me! in fairness, she offered
herself for his touch and scrutiny, guiding his hands, displaying
herself eagerly.
Look, touch, it's yours - all yours/ wanting his approval, not able to
give him sufficient to satisfy her own need to give. Do you like it,
Nicholas? Is this good for you? Is there anything else you want,
Nicholas, anything at all that I can give you? And when he told her how
beautiful she was, when he told her how much he wanted her, when he
touched and marvelled over the gifts she brought to him, she glowed and
stretched and purred like a great golden cat so that when he learned
that the Zodiacal sign of her birthday was Leo, he was not at all
surprised.
Samantha was loving in the early slippery grey-pearl light of dawn, soft
sleepy loving, with small gasps and murmurs and chuckles of deep
contentment.
Samantha was loving in the sunlight, spread like a beautiful starfish in
the fierce reflected sunlight of the sculptured dunes. The sand coated
her body like crystals of sugar, and their cries rose together, high and
ecstatic as those of the curious seagulls that floated above them on
motionless white wings.
Samantha was loving in the green cool water, their two heads bobbing
beyond the first line of breakers, his toes only just touching the sandy
bottom and she twined about him like sea kelp about a submerged rock,
clutching both their swim suits in one hand and gurgling merrily.
What's good enough for a lady blue whale is good enough for Samantha
Silver! There blows Moby Dick! And Samantha was loving in the night,
with her hair brushed out carefully and spread over him, lustrous and
fragrant, a canopy of gold in the lamplight, and she kneeling astride
him in almost religious awe, like a temple maid making the sacrifice.
But more than anything else, Samantha was vibrant, bursting life - and
youth eternal.
Through her, Nicholas recaptured those emotions which he had believed
long atrophied by cynicism and the pragmatism of living. He shared her
childlike delight in the small wonders of nature, the flight of a gull,
the presence of the porpoise, the discovery of the perfect translucent
fan of papery nautilus shell washed up on the white sand with the rare
tentacled creature still alive within the convoluted interior.
and He shared her outrage when even those renio lonely beaches were
invaded by an oil slick, tank washings from a VLCC out on the Agulhas
current, and the filthy clinging globules of spilled crude oil stuck to
the soles of their feet, smeared the rocks and smothered the carcasses
of the jackass penguins they found at the water's edge, Samantha was
life itself, just to touch the warmth of her and to drink the sound of
her laughter was to be rejuvenated. To walk beside her was to feel
vital and strong.
Strong enough f or the long days in the sea and sun, strong enough to
dance to the loud wild music half the night, and then strong enough to
lift her when she faltered and carry her down to their bungalow above
the beach, she in his arms like a sleepy child, her skin tingling with
the memory of the sun, her muscles aching deliciously with fatigue, and
her belly crammed with rich food.
Oh Nicholas, Nicholas - I'm so happy I want to cry. Then Larry Fry
arrived; he arrived on a cloud of indignation, red-faced and accusing as
a cuckolded husband.
Two weeks/ he blared. London and Bermuda and St Nazaire have been
driving me mad for two weeks! And he brandished a sheath of telex
flimsies that looked like the galley proofs for the Encyclopaedia
Britannica.
Nobody knew what had happened to you. You just disappeared. He ordered
a large gin and tonic from the white jacketed bar-tender and sank
wearily on to the stool beside Nick. You nearly cost me my job, Mr.
Berg, and that's the truth. You'd have thought I'd bumped you off
personally and dumped your body in the bay. I had to hire a private
detective to check every hotel register in the country. He took a long,
soothing draught of the gin.
At that moment, Samantha drifted into the cocktail lounge. She wore a
loose, floating dress the same green as her eyes, and a respectful hush
fell on the pre-luncheon drinkers as they watched her cross the room.
Larry Fry forgot his indignation and gaped at her, his bald scorched
head growing shining under a thin film of perspiration.
Godstrewth/ he Muttered. I'd rather feel that, than feel sick. And then
his admiration turned to consternation when she came directly to
Nicholas, laid her hand on his shoulder and in full view of the entire
room kissed him lingeringly on the mouth.
There was a soft collective sigh from the watchers and Larry Fry knocked
over his gin.
We must go now, today/ Samantha decided. We mustn't stay even another
hour, Nicholas, or we will spoil it. It was perfect, but now we must
go. Nicholas understood. Like him she had the compulsion to keep
moving forward. Within the hour, he had chartered a twin-engined
Beechcraft Baron. It picked them up at the little earth strip near the
hotel and put them down at Johannesburg's Jan Smuts Airport an hour
before the departure of the UTA flight for Paris.
I always rode in the back of the bus before/ said Samantha, as she
looked around the first-class cabin appraisingly.
Is it true that up this end you can eat and drink as much as you like,
for free? Yes. Then Nick added hastily, But you don't have to take
that as a personal challenge. Nicholas had come to stand in awe of
Samantha's appetites.
They stayed overnight at the Georges V in Paris and caught the
midmorning TAT flight down to Nantes, the nearest airfield to the
shipyards at St Nazaire, and Jules Levoisin was there to meet them at
the ChAteau Bougon field.
Nicholas! he shouted joyfully, and stood on tiptoe to buss both his
cheeks, enveloping him in a fragrant cloud of eau de Cologne and pomade.
You are a pirate Nicholas, you stole that ship from under my nose. I
hate you. He held Nicholas at arm's length. I warned you not to take
the oh, didn't I? You did, Jules, you did. So why do you make a fool
of me? he demanded, and twirled his moustaches. He was wearing
expensive cashmere and an Yves St Laurent necktie; ashore, Jules was
always the dandy.
Jules, I am going to buy lunch for you at La Rotisserie, Nicholas
&
nbsp; promised.
I forgive you/ said Jules, it was one of his favourite eating-places -
but at that moment Jules became aware that Nicholas was not travelling
alone.
He stood back, took one long look at Samantha and it seemed that
tricolors unfurled around him and brass bands burst into the opening
bars of La Marseillaise'. For if dalliance was the national sport,
Jules Levoisin considered himself veteran champion of all France.
He bowed over her hand, and tickled the back of it with his still black
mustache. Then he told Nicholas, She is too good for you, mon petit, I
am going to take her away from you. The same way you did Golden
Adventurer? Nick asked innocently.
Jules had his ancient Citroen in the car park. it was lovingly waxed
and fitted with shiny gewgaws and dangling mascots. He handed Samantha
into the front seat as though it was a Rolls Camargue.
He's beautiful/ she whispered, as he scampered around to the driver's
door.
Jules could not devote attention to both the road ahead and to Samantha,
so he concentrated solely upon her, without deviating from the Citron's
top speed, only occasionally turning to shout, Cochon! at another driver
or jerk his fist at them with the second finger pointed stiffly upwards
in ribald salutation.
Jules great-grandfather charged with the Emperor's cavalry at Quatre
Bras/Nick explained. He is a man without fear. You will enjoy La
Rotisserie, Jules told Samantha. I can only afford to eat there when I
find somebody rich who wishes a favour of me. How do you know I want a
favour? Nick asked from the back seat, clinging to the door-handle.
Three telegrams, a telephone call from Bermuda another from
Johannesburg/ Jules chuckled fruitily and winked at Samantha. You think
I believe Nicholas Berg wants to discuss old times? You think I believe
he feels so deeply for his old friend, who taught him everything he
knows? A man who treated him like a son, and whom he blatantly robbed -
Jules sped across the Loire bridge and plunged into that tangled web of
narrow one-way streets and teeming traffic which is Nantes, a way opened
for him miraculously.
In the Place Briand, he handed Samantha gallantly from the Citron, and
in the restaurant he puffed out his cheeks and made little anxious
clucking and tut-tutting noises, as Nicholas discussed the wine list
with the sommelier but he nodded reluctant approval when they settled on
