stared at it fascinated for a moment, then he looked up into the
appraising green eyes.
"Do you drive a car?" he asked seriously, and her smile turned to
surprised laughter.
"I do." said Vicky, laughing. "I also ride a horse and a bicycle,
I can ski, pilot an aeroplane, play snooker and bridge, sing, dance and
play the piano."
"That will do," Jake laughed with her. "That will do just fine." Vicky
turned back to the Prince. "What is all this about,
Lij Mikhael?" she asked. "Just what do these two gentlemen have to do
with our plans?" The towering purple hull of the Dunnottar Castle
swung slowly across the back-drop of palm trees and the high sun-gilded
ranges of cumulus cloud, as she pulled her anchors and came around for
the harbour entrance.
At the rail of the upper deck, the tall figure of the Prince was
flanked by the white-robed figures of his staff, and as the ship
increased speed and kicked up a white sparkling bow wave, he lifted an
arm in a gesture of farewell.
Swiftly, the shape of the liner dwindled away into the limitless
eastern ocean as she made her offing before turning northwards once
more.
The four figures on the wharf lingered after it had disappeared,
staring out at the horizon whose long sweep was uninterrupted except by
the tiny white triangular sails of the fishing fleet coming in off the
banks.
Jake spoke first. "We'll have to find digs for Miss Camberwell. And
at the thought, both he and Gareth made a grab for her single battered
portmanteau and the typewriter in its leather case.
"Spin you for it," suggested Gareth, and an East African shilling
appeared in his hand.
"Tails,"decided Jake.
"Rough luck, old son," Gareth commiserated, and returned the coin to
his pocket. "I'll take care of Miss Camberwell-" he went on, " then
I'll start looking for a ship to take us up coast. In the meantime, I
suggest you have another look at those cars." As he spoke,
he hailed a ricksha from the row which waited at the head of the
wharf.
"Remember, Jake, it was one thing driving them down to the harbour but
an altogether different matter driving them through two hundred miles
of desert. You'd best make sure we don't have to walk home, he
advised, and handed Vicky Camberwell into the ricksha. "Driver,
advance!" he called, and with a cheery wave they jogged away up
town.
"It looks as though we are on our own, sir," said Gregorius, and
Jake grunted, still staring after the departing ricksha. "I think I
should also find accommodation," and Jake roused himself.
"Come along, lad. You can doss down in my tent for the few days before
we leave." And then he grinned. "I hope you won't be offended if I
wish it was Miss Camberwell rather than you, Greg." The boy laughed
delightedly. "I understand your feelings but perhaps she snores,
sir."
"No girl who looks like that could possibly snore," Jake told him. "And
another thing don't call me "sir", it makes me nervous. My name's
Jake." He picked up one of Greg's bags. "We'll walk," he said. "I
have a horrible hollow feeling that it's going to be a long weary wait
until next the eagle screams." They set off along the dusty unpaved
verge of the road.
"You said you own a Morgan? "Jake asked.
"That's right, Jake." you know what makes it move?"
"The internal combustion engine."
"Oh brother," applauded Jake. "That is a flying start. You have just
been appointed second engineer get your sleeves rolled up." Gareth
Swales had a theory about seduction which in twenty years he had never
had reason to revise.
ladies liked the company of aristocrats, they were all of them
basically snobs and a coat of arms usually made the coldest of them
swoon. No sooner had they settled into the padded seats of the
ricksha, than he turned upon Vicky Camberwell the full dazzling beam of
his wit and charm.
No one who had built up an international reputation in the hard field
of journalism by the age of twenty-nine could be expected to lack
perception, or be naive in the wicked ways of the world. Vicky
Camberwell had made a preliminary judgement of Gareth within minutes of
meeting him.
She had known others with the same urbane good looks and meticulous
grooming, the light bantering tone and the steely glint in the eye.
Rogue, she had decided and every second in his company confirmed the
initial judgement but damned good-looking rogue, and very funny rogue
with the exaggerated accent and turn of speech which she had recognized
immediately as a huge put-on. She listened with amusement as he set
out to impress with his lineage.
"As the colonel used to say we always referred to my old man as the
colonel." Gareth's father had indeed died a colonel, but not in an
illustrious regiment, as the rank suggested. He had worked his way up
from the lowly rank of constable in the Indian police.
"Of course, the family estates were from my mother's side-" His mother.
had been the only daughter of an unsuccessful baker, and the family
estate had comprised the mortgaged premises in Swansea.
"The colonel was always a bit of a rogue, and moved with a wild crowd,
