was essentially the Casino type. Where better to flog his wares, filthy postcards or otherwise? Widmark dismissed him from his thoughts.
Had he been asked to, he couldn’t have described his walk to the car and drive back to the Polana; his thoughts soared and he felt tremendously excited; he had never before experienced such a state of euphoria and, thinking about it, he realised that he was in love—in love with a girl he’d just met in Costa’s: a girl about whom he knew nothing but that she was Greek, lived in Lourenço Marques, and evidently felt about him as he did about her.
The nearest thing to this experience, but a long way from it, had been in 1937, in San Francisco, a few days after they’d arrived in the Albatross .
At a party in the Mark he’d met a girl, fallen, he thought, deeply in love with her, and on the strength of a wild five days and a good deal of encouragement followed her across the North American continent to New York where he’d found she had a husband and two small children. Vowing never again to let a woman make a fool of him, he’d flown back to San Francisco, sad and chastened, to attend to the sale of the Albatross .
Then the war had come and what with the Kasos Strait affair, the loss of his mother, and the private disgrace of his return to South Africa, he’d become gloomy and preoccupied, and one way and another he’d not had much time or inclination for the company of women.
And now, sitting in his room at the Polana, thinking of Cleo, of that incredible meeting, of how she had looked and what she had said, he accepted with sombre resignation that in the few days left to him in Lourenço Marques he’d have to keep away from her. He couldn’t afford to get involved in anything which might interfere with or endanger the task ahead. Afterwards , when it was all over, he’d come back. It wouldn’t be long and she’d wait. Then, with a distinct sense of disquiet,he remembered something: Cleo would be at the party in the Hagenfels —she, too, would be coming with them to Durban.
For a moment he panicked: thought of warning her that she mustn’t come, that she might be in danger; but even as he had them he discarded these thoughts. How could he tell her that? She knew Kurt Lindemann! There could be no change in the plans. For better or worse she’d have to come. His feeling of unease gave way to the agreeable prospect of seeing her again so soon. Of one thing he had no doubt: she was the future Mrs. Stephen Widmark.
At 2 a.m. Widmark made his way downstairs and along the passage to number 214. He tried the door, found it locked, frowned with irritation, and knocked on it quietly. But there was no response although he did this several times; then, just as he was about to go, thoroughly angry, the Newt came up the passage, winked heavily, unlocked the door and let him in.
“Where’ve you been?” said Widmark coldly.
“Having a pee, old boy! Any objections?”
Widmark gave him another frosty look. “Let’s see those charts and sailing directions.”
For some time they worked on them, and they decided eventually to abandon the idea of taking the normal course on leaving, Canal do Sul and Cabo da Inhaca, because of possible trouble with the pilot vessel.
Instead they would use the northern channel, Canal do Norte, which had ample water although it was not buoyed or lighted and was never used by large vessels.
When all this had been agreed, Widmark said what had been on his mind for some time: “Look, Newt! Your private life’s none of my business, but for God’s sake don’t get involved with Di Brett. She’s easy on the eye, I know, but we’ve got a hell of a lot at stake, and this isn’t the time for necking.”
The Newt became distinctly offhand. “My dear Steve, please ! I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain. I enjoy her company, it’s no more than that. And since I’m supposedto be here on holiday I might as well behave as if I were.
Had he been asked to, he couldn’t have described his walk to the car and drive back to the Polana; his thoughts soared and he felt tremendously excited; he had never before experienced such a state of euphoria and, thinking about it, he realised that he was in love—in love with a girl he’d just met in Costa’s: a girl about whom he knew nothing but that she was Greek, lived in Lourenço Marques, and evidently felt about him as he did about her.
The nearest thing to this experience, but a long way from it, had been in 1937, in San Francisco, a few days after they’d arrived in the Albatross .
At a party in the Mark he’d met a girl, fallen, he thought, deeply in love with her, and on the strength of a wild five days and a good deal of encouragement followed her across the North American continent to New York where he’d found she had a husband and two small children. Vowing never again to let a woman make a fool of him, he’d flown back to San Francisco, sad and chastened, to attend to the sale of the Albatross .
Then the war had come and what with the Kasos Strait affair, the loss of his mother, and the private disgrace of his return to South Africa, he’d become gloomy and preoccupied, and one way and another he’d not had much time or inclination for the company of women.
And now, sitting in his room at the Polana, thinking of Cleo, of that incredible meeting, of how she had looked and what she had said, he accepted with sombre resignation that in the few days left to him in Lourenço Marques he’d have to keep away from her. He couldn’t afford to get involved in anything which might interfere with or endanger the task ahead. Afterwards , when it was all over, he’d come back. It wouldn’t be long and she’d wait. Then, with a distinct sense of disquiet,he remembered something: Cleo would be at the party in the Hagenfels —she, too, would be coming with them to Durban.
For a moment he panicked: thought of warning her that she mustn’t come, that she might be in danger; but even as he had them he discarded these thoughts. How could he tell her that? She knew Kurt Lindemann! There could be no change in the plans. For better or worse she’d have to come. His feeling of unease gave way to the agreeable prospect of seeing her again so soon. Of one thing he had no doubt: she was the future Mrs. Stephen Widmark.
At 2 a.m. Widmark made his way downstairs and along the passage to number 214. He tried the door, found it locked, frowned with irritation, and knocked on it quietly. But there was no response although he did this several times; then, just as he was about to go, thoroughly angry, the Newt came up the passage, winked heavily, unlocked the door and let him in.
“Where’ve you been?” said Widmark coldly.
“Having a pee, old boy! Any objections?”
Widmark gave him another frosty look. “Let’s see those charts and sailing directions.”
For some time they worked on them, and they decided eventually to abandon the idea of taking the normal course on leaving, Canal do Sul and Cabo da Inhaca, because of possible trouble with the pilot vessel.
Instead they would use the northern channel, Canal do Norte, which had ample water although it was not buoyed or lighted and was never used by large vessels.
When all this had been agreed, Widmark said what had been on his mind for some time: “Look, Newt! Your private life’s none of my business, but for God’s sake don’t get involved with Di Brett. She’s easy on the eye, I know, but we’ve got a hell of a lot at stake, and this isn’t the time for necking.”
The Newt became distinctly offhand. “My dear Steve, please ! I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain. I enjoy her company, it’s no more than that. And since I’m supposedto be here on holiday I might as well behave as if I were.
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