him if he was married. As if he’d seen a ghost. He smiled thinly and pressed the bell. The steward appeared in a flash.
Vincent smiled again. “Large whisky,” he drawled.
* * * * *
Once clear of the town the narrow dirt road climbed rapidly through a boulder-strewn pass, and up on to the wide plateau which covered most of the island. Here, the thick green vegetation closed protectively into the sides of the road, blotting out the sea and the shabby buildings around the harbour. Laker’s cream American convertible, a Union Jack fluttering incongruously from the bonnet, rocked easily over the uneven surface, its luxury springs making short work of the pot-holes and wheel-ruts.
Vincent sat in front beside the driver, a sturdy little man called Grant, who was employed by Laker as his estate manager, while Rolfe and Fallow shared the vast expanse of the rear seat. Rolfe reflected that there was ample room for the four of them in front, but was thankful for his freedom of movement and conversation. Vincent, on the other hand, chatted happily to his companion, who handled the big car with ease and a total disregard for the occasional passer-by, who had to jump from the road to avoid the gleaming chrome bumper.
“Dashed decent of Mr. Laker to send his car for us,” remarked Vincent, as a drove of chickens scattered into the bushes. “I’m really looking forward to this party!”
Grant chuckled. “Reckon you wouldn’t have fancied the walk!” The blackened pipe clamped between his teeth bobbed as he spoke. “It’s a bit off the beaten track, y’see, but it’s worth the journey,” he added proudly.
Rolfe’s eyes hardened behind the protective lenses of his sun-glasses. Another one, he thought angrily. Why did these people have to choose such an outlandish place to set up their little empire? The car lurched sideways on to an even narrowerroad and slowed to pass through a pair of high barbed-wire gates. He caught a brief glimpse of two waving figures, and the glint of their rifles, before the car turned yet again on to a long, ruler-straight roadway which seemed to run on forever between legions of neat little trees and wide, orderly fields. There was an air of well-planned regimentation about the whole estate which made Rolfe think of Laker. As if in answer to his thoughts, Grant waved a stubby hand towards the fields. “There it is, or part of it, gentlemen. Fourteen years’ hard work and a lot of capital, too!”
He pointed to the gleam of red brickwork beyond the trees. “Yon’s the reservoir that the guv’nor built. No shortage of fresh water all the year round!”
“What do the inhabitants think about that?” asked Vincent.
Grant laughed in amazement. “The natives, d’you mean? Oh, it’s not for them! It’s for our own uses!” He chuckled as if it was a huge joke.
Vincent joined in his laughter. “I’m glad you’ve got the right idea out here!”
Rolfe gritted his teeth, conscious of the throbbing in his temples. Without thinking, he touched his pocket, feeling the folded signal pad containing the Admiral’s acknowledgement to his message. He had decoded it himself, and his heart had quickened as he had read the news in the privacy of his cabin.
“Reliable reports indicate strong Communist forces massing on mainland due west of your position. Several large landing craft also in vicinity. Suggest you commence operation immediately. Use your own discretion.”
Use your own discretion. The words had meant the death or dishonour of many naval captains in the past, whose situations had been comparatively easy when compared with his own present dilemma. It seemed fantastic that they were bowling along in this luxury automobile, when less than fifty miles away troops were probably, even at this very moment, being marched into the waiting craft for an invasion of the island. He twisted uncomfortably in his seat, and turned to face Fallow, who was showing a half-hearted attempt to listen to
Vincent smiled again. “Large whisky,” he drawled.
* * * * *
Once clear of the town the narrow dirt road climbed rapidly through a boulder-strewn pass, and up on to the wide plateau which covered most of the island. Here, the thick green vegetation closed protectively into the sides of the road, blotting out the sea and the shabby buildings around the harbour. Laker’s cream American convertible, a Union Jack fluttering incongruously from the bonnet, rocked easily over the uneven surface, its luxury springs making short work of the pot-holes and wheel-ruts.
Vincent sat in front beside the driver, a sturdy little man called Grant, who was employed by Laker as his estate manager, while Rolfe and Fallow shared the vast expanse of the rear seat. Rolfe reflected that there was ample room for the four of them in front, but was thankful for his freedom of movement and conversation. Vincent, on the other hand, chatted happily to his companion, who handled the big car with ease and a total disregard for the occasional passer-by, who had to jump from the road to avoid the gleaming chrome bumper.
“Dashed decent of Mr. Laker to send his car for us,” remarked Vincent, as a drove of chickens scattered into the bushes. “I’m really looking forward to this party!”
Grant chuckled. “Reckon you wouldn’t have fancied the walk!” The blackened pipe clamped between his teeth bobbed as he spoke. “It’s a bit off the beaten track, y’see, but it’s worth the journey,” he added proudly.
Rolfe’s eyes hardened behind the protective lenses of his sun-glasses. Another one, he thought angrily. Why did these people have to choose such an outlandish place to set up their little empire? The car lurched sideways on to an even narrowerroad and slowed to pass through a pair of high barbed-wire gates. He caught a brief glimpse of two waving figures, and the glint of their rifles, before the car turned yet again on to a long, ruler-straight roadway which seemed to run on forever between legions of neat little trees and wide, orderly fields. There was an air of well-planned regimentation about the whole estate which made Rolfe think of Laker. As if in answer to his thoughts, Grant waved a stubby hand towards the fields. “There it is, or part of it, gentlemen. Fourteen years’ hard work and a lot of capital, too!”
He pointed to the gleam of red brickwork beyond the trees. “Yon’s the reservoir that the guv’nor built. No shortage of fresh water all the year round!”
“What do the inhabitants think about that?” asked Vincent.
Grant laughed in amazement. “The natives, d’you mean? Oh, it’s not for them! It’s for our own uses!” He chuckled as if it was a huge joke.
Vincent joined in his laughter. “I’m glad you’ve got the right idea out here!”
Rolfe gritted his teeth, conscious of the throbbing in his temples. Without thinking, he touched his pocket, feeling the folded signal pad containing the Admiral’s acknowledgement to his message. He had decoded it himself, and his heart had quickened as he had read the news in the privacy of his cabin.
“Reliable reports indicate strong Communist forces massing on mainland due west of your position. Several large landing craft also in vicinity. Suggest you commence operation immediately. Use your own discretion.”
Use your own discretion. The words had meant the death or dishonour of many naval captains in the past, whose situations had been comparatively easy when compared with his own present dilemma. It seemed fantastic that they were bowling along in this luxury automobile, when less than fifty miles away troops were probably, even at this very moment, being marched into the waiting craft for an invasion of the island. He twisted uncomfortably in his seat, and turned to face Fallow, who was showing a half-hearted attempt to listen to
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