What did you want to speak to me about, is it Peter? No. Peter is
doing as well as we can hope for, in the circumstances, He still resents
Duncan - but she shrugged, and moved away. He had almost forgotten how
narrow was her waist, he would still be able to span it with both hands.
It's hard to explain, but it's Christy Marine, Nicholas. I desperately
need the advise of someone I can trust., You can trust me? he asked.
Isn't it strange? I would still trust you with my life., She came back
to him, standing disconcertingly close, enveloping him with her scent
and heady beauty. He sipped at the whisky to distract himself.
Even though I have no right to ask you, Nicholas, still I know you won't
refuse me, will you? She wove spells, he could feel the mesh falling
like gossamer around him.
I always was a sucker, wasn't I? Now she touched his arm. No,
Nicholas, please don't be bitter. She held his gaze directly.
How can I help you? Her touch on his arm disturbed him, and, sensing
this, she increased the pressure of her fingers for a moment, then
lifted her hand and glanced at the slim white gold Piaget on her wrist.
Duncan will be home soon - and what I have to tell you is long and
complicated. Can we meet in London early next week? Chantelle/he
began.
Nicky, please. Nicky, she was the only one who ever called him that. it
was too familiar, too intimate.
When? You are meeting Duncan on Tuesday morning to discuss the
arbitration of Golden Adventurer. Yes. Will you call me at Eaton
Square when you finish? I'll wait by the telephone. Chantelle 'Nicky,
I have nobody else to turn to. He had never been able to refuse her -
which was part of the reason he had lost her, he thought wryly.
There was no engine noise, just the low rush of air past the body of the
Mercedes.
Damn these seats, they weren't made for lovers, Samantha said.
We'll be home in an hour. I don't know if I can wait that long,
Samantha whispered huskily. I want to be closer to you. And they were
silent again, until they slowed for the weekend traffic through
Hammersmith.
Peter is a knockout. if only I were ten years old, I'd cash in my
dolls. My guess is he would swop his Spitfire., How much longer?
"Another half hour. Nicholas, I feel threatened, her voice had a sudden
panicky edge to it. I have this terrible foreboding That's nonsense.
It's been too good - for too long. James Teacher was the head of Salmon
Peters and Teacher, the lawyers that Nick had retained for Ocean
Salvage. He was a man with a formidable reputation in the City, a
leading expert on maritime law - and a tough bargainer.
He was florid and bald, and so short that his feet did not touch the
floorboards of the Bentley when he sat on the back seat.
He and Nick had discussed in detail where this preliminary meeting with
Christy Marine should be held, and at last they had agreed to go to the
mountain, but James Teacher had insisted on arriving in his
chocolate-coloured Bentley, rather than a cab.
Smoked salmon, Mr. Berg, not fish and chips - that's what we are after.
Christy House was one of those conservative smoke stained stone
buildings fronted on to Leadenhall Street, the centre of Britain's
shipping industry. Almost directly opposite was Trafalgar House, and a
hundred yard's further was Lloyd's of London. The doorman crossed the
pavement to open Nicholas door.
Good to see you again, Mr. Berg sir!
Hello, Alfred. You taking good care of the shop?
Indeed, sir. The following cab, containing James Teacher's two juniors
and their bulky briefcases, pulled up behind the Bentley and they
assembled on the pavement like a party of raiding Vikings before the
gates of a medieval city. The three lawyers settled their bowler hats
firmly and then moved forward determinedly in spearhead formation.
In the lobby, the doorman passed them on to a senior clerk who was
waiting by the desk.
Good morning, Mr. Berg. You are looking very well, sir. They rode up
doors. Nicholas had never brought himself to exchange them for those
swift modern boxes.
And the clerk ushered them out on to the top-floor landings Will you
follow me, please, gentlemen? There was an antechamber that opened on
to the board room, a large room, panelled and hung with a single
portrait of old Arthur Christy on the entrance wall - fit jaw and sharp
black eyes under beetling white eyebrows.
A log fire burned in the open grate, and there was sherry and Madeira in
crystal decanters on the central table another one of the old min's
little traditions - that both James Teacher and Nick refused curtly.
They waited quietly, standing facing the door into the Chairman's suite.
They waited for exactly four minutes before the door was thrown open and
Duncan Alexander stepped through it.
His eyes flicked across the room and settled instantly on Nick, locking
with his, like the horns of two great bull buffalo, and the room was
very still.
The lawyers around Nick seemed to shrink back and the men behind Duncan
Alexander waited, not yet following him into the antechamber, but all of
them watched and waited avidly; this meeting would be the gossip of the
City for weeks to come - It was a classic confrontation, and they wanted
to miss not a moment of it.
Duncan Alexander was a strikingly good-looking man, very tall, two
inches taller than Nick, but slim as a dancer, and he carried his body
with a dancer's control. His face also was narrow, with the long
lantern jaw of a young Lincoln, already chiselled by life around the
eyes and at the corners of the mouth.
His hair dense and a metallic blond; though he wore it fashionably long
over the ears, yet it was so carefully groomed that each gleaming wave
seemed to have been sculptured.
His skin was smooth and tanned darker than his hair, sun lamp or skiing
at Chantelle's lodge at Gstaad perhaps, and now when he smiled his teeth
were dazzlingly white, perfect large teeth in the wide friendly mouth -
but the eyes did not smile though they crinkled at the corners.
Duncan Alexander watched from behind the handsome face like a sniper in
ambush.
Nicholas/ he said, without moving forward or offering a hand.
Duncan/ said Nick quietly, not answering the smile, and Duncan Alexander
adjusted the hang of his lapel. His clothes were beautifully cut, and
the cloth was the finest, softest wool, but there were foppish little
touches: the hacking slits in the tails of the jacket, the
double-flapped pockets, and the waistcoat in plum-coloured velvet, Now
he touched the buttons with his fingertips, another little distracting
gesture, the only evidence of any discomfort.
Nicholas stared at him steadily, trying to measure him dispassionately,
and now for the first time he began to see how it might have happened.
There was a sense of excitement about the man, a wicked air of danger,
the fascination of the
leopard - or some other powerful predator. Nick
could understand the almost irresistible attraction he had for women,
especially for a spoiled and bored lady, a matron of thirteen years who
believed there was still excitement and adventure in life that she was
missing.
Duncan had done his cobra dance, and Chantelle had watched like a
mesmerized bird of paradise - until she had toppled from the branch - or
that's how Nicholas liked to think it had happened. He was wiser now,
much wiser and more cynical.
Before we begin! Nick knew that anger was seething to his still
surface, must soon bubble through unless he could give it release, I
should like five minutes in private. Of course. Duncan inclined his
head, and there was a hurried scampering as his minions cleared the
doorway into the Chairman's suite. Come through. Duncan stood aside,
and Nick walked through. The offices had been completely redecorated,
and Nick blinked with surprise, white carpets and furniture in chrome
and perspex, stark abstract geometrical art in solid primary colours on
the walls; the ceiling had been lowered by an egg design in chrome steel
and free-swivelling studio spotlights gave selected light patterns on
wall and ceiling.
It was no improvement, Nick decided.
I was in St Nazaire last week. Nicholas turned in the centre of the
wide snowy floor and faced Duncan Alexander as he closed the door.
Yes, I know. I went over Golden Dawn. Duncan Alexander snapped open a
gold cigarette case and offered it to Nick, then when he shook his head
in refusal, selected one himself. They were special blend, custom-made
for him by Benson and Hedges.
Charles Gras exceeded his authority, Duncan nodded.
Visitors are not allowed on Golden Dawn. I am not surprised you are
ashamed of that death-trap you are building. But you do surprise me,
Nicholas. Duncan showed his teeth again. It was your design. 'You know
it was not. You took the idea, and bastardized it. Duncan, you cannot
sent! Nick sought for the word, that monster on to the open sea. Not
with one propulsion unit, and a single screw. The risk is too
appalling. I tell you this for no good reason, except perhaps that this
was once your office/ Duncan made a gesture that embraced the room, and
because it amuses me to point out to you the faults in your original
planning. The concept was sound, but your soured the cream by adding
those preposterous, shall we call them Bergean, touches. Five separate
propulsion units, and a forest of boilers. It wasn't viable, Nicholas.
It was good, the figures were right., The whole tanker market has
changed since you left Christy Marine. I had to re-work it. You should
have dropped the whole concept if the cost structure changed. 'Oh no,
Nicholas, I restructured. My way, even in these hard times, I will
recover capital in a year, and with a five.
year life on the hull there is two hundred million dollars profit in it.
I was going to build a ship that would last for thirty years/ Nick told
him. Something of which we could be proud - I Pride is an expensive
commodity. We aren't building dynasties any more, we are in the game of
selling tanker space. Duncan's tone was patronizing, that impeccable
accent drawn out, emphasizing the difference in their backgrounds. I'm
aiming at a five-year life, two hundred million profit, and then we sell
the hull to the Greeks or Japs. It's a one-time thing. You always were
a smash-and-grab artist, Nick agreed.
But it isn't like dealing in commodities. Ships aren't wheat and bacon,
and the oceans aren't the orderly market floors. I disagree, I'm
afraid. The principles are the same - one buys, one sells. Ships are
living things, the ocean is a battleground of all the elements. 'Come,
Nicholas, you don't really believe that romantic nonsense. Duncan drew a
gold Hunter from his waist pocket, and snapped open the lid to read the
dial another of his affectations which irritated Nicholas. Those are
very expensive gentlemen waiting next door. You will be risking human
life, the men who sail her. Seamen are well paid - You will be taking a
monstrous risk with the life of the oceans. Wherever she goes Golden
Dawn will be a potential - For God's sake, Nicholas, two hundred million
dollars is worth some kind of risk. All right/ Nick nodded. Let's
forget the environment, and the human life, and consider the important
aspects the money. Duncan sighed, and wagged that fine head, smiling as
at a recalcitrant child.
I have considered the money - in detail. You will not get an Al rating
at Lloyd's. You will not get insurance on that hull - unless you
underwrite yourself, the same way you did with Golden Adventurer, and if
you think that's wise, just wait until I've finished with my salvage
claim. Duncan Alexander's smile twisted slowly, and blood darkened his
cheeks under the snow-tan. I do not need a Lloyd's rating, though I am
sure I could get one if I wanted it. I have arranged continental and
oriental underwriters.
She will be fully insured. Against pollution claims, also? If you
burst that bag of crude on the continental shelf of America, or Europe,
2 so they'll hit you for half a billion dollars. Nobody would
underwrite that. Golden Dawn is registered in Venezuela, and she has no
sister ships for the authorities to seize, like they did with the Torrey
Canyon. To whom will they address the pollution bill? A defunct South
American Company? No, Nicholas, Christy Marine will not be paying any
pollution bills. I cannot believe it, even of you. Nick stared at him.
You are cold-bloodedly talking about the possibility - no, the
probability - of dumping a million tons of crude oil into the sea. 'Your
moral indignation is touching. It really is. However, Nicholas, may I
remind you that this is family and house business - and you are no
longer either family or house. I fought you every time you cut a
corner/ Nick reminded him. I tried to teach you that cheap is always
expensive in the long run. You taught me? For the first time Duncan
taunted him openly. What could you ever teach me about ships or money,
and he rolled his tongue gloating around the next words, or women? Nick
made the first movement of lunging at him, but he caught himself, and
forced himself to unclench his fists at his sides. The blood sang in
his ears.
I'm going to fight you he said quietly. I'm going to fight you from
here to the maritime conference, and beyond. He made the decision in
that moment, he hadn't realized he was going to do it until then.
A maritime conference has never taken less than five years to reach a
decision restricting one of its members. By that time Golden Dawn will
belong to some Japanese, Hong-Kong-based company - and Christy Marine
will have banked two hundred million. I'll have the oil ports closed to
you By whom? Oil-thirsty governments, with lobbies of the big oil
companies? Duncan laughed lightly, he had replaced the urbane mask. You
really are out of your depth again. We have bumped heads a dozen times
before, Nicholas - and I'm still on my feet. I'm not about to fold up
to your fine threats now. After that, there was no hope that the
meeting in the panelled board room would lead to conciliation. The
atmosphere crackled and smouldered with the antagonism of the two
leading characters, so that they seemed to be the only persons on the
stage.
They sat opposite each other, separated by the glossy surface of the
rosewood table top, and their gazes seldom disengaged. They leaned
forward in their chairs, and when they smiled at each other, it was like
the silent snarl of two old dog wolves circling with hackles erect.
It took an enormous effort of self-control for Nicholas to force back
his anger far enough to be able to think clearly, and to allow his
intuition to pick up the gut-impressions, the subtle hints of the
thinking and planning that were taking place across the table behind
Duncan Alexander's handsome mask of a face.
It was half an hour before he was convinced that something other than
personal rivalry and antagonism was motivating the man before him.
His counter offer was too low to have any hope of being accepted, so low
that it became clear that he did not want to settle. Duncan Alexander
wanted to go to arbitration - and yet there was nothing he could gain by
that. It must be obvious to everyone at the table, beyond any doubt
whatsoever, that Nicholas claim was worth four million dollars. Nicholas
would have settled for four, even in his anger he would have gone for
four - risking that an arbitration board might have awarded six, and
knowing the delay and costs of going to litigation might amount to
another million. He would have settled.
Duncan Alexander was offering two and a half. It was a frivolous offer.
Duncan was going through the motions only. There was no serious attempt
at finding a settlement.
He didn't want to come to terms, and it seemed to Nicholas that by
refusing to settle he was gaining nothing, and risking a great deal. He
was a big enough boy to know that you never, but never, go to litigation
if there is another way out. It was a rule that Nicholas had graven on
his heart in letters of fire. Litigation makes only lawyers fat, Why
was Duncan baulking, what was he to gain by this obstruction? Nicholas
crushed down the temptation to stand up and walk out of the room with an