Freelance 20

CHAPTER TWENTYONE – DELIA

Waking is always a blessing when you have plenty of cash in the bank (or a fat envelope in your hotel safe), and your head does not thump. Lindsay bounced out of bed, feeling magnificent. The sun was up, the sky outside his bedroom window was pure azure, and he felt distinctly peckish. His skin was still tender, but he could see that he was shading from bright red towards a coppery sort of hue, and he knew that he would have a really impressive tan for Collier’s launch. He unpacked a clean shirt and a fresh pair of slacks, found some clean socks, and hummed to himself as he made his morning ablutions. He had a busy day ahead, prospects were promising, and the British Colonial would look after the laundry. He wondered what Delia would be like, and where he could go after the weekend. Interglobal might present a few problems, but Latin America might prove tempting – he spoke some Spanish, enough to get by.

Swann was already breakfasting at a sunny table in the hotel restaurant set by an open patio door. He lifted a cheery hand, and poured Lindsay a cup of strong black coffee. The table had a jug of fresh orange juice to hand, and fresh toast waited in a little silver rack. Lindsay crunched contentedly. Cowan and Armstrong joined them just as a waiter brought Lindsay a plate piled with griddle cakes, and the two golf men arrived moments later. All four were still shadowed with an air of restrained envy, but he could handle it.

He ate quickly, and then returned to his room to change into his swimming trunks, padding down to the hotel beach for a quick splash, and was back in the bar as Swann set up a round of rum punches to put them in press conference mood. Five minutes later they trooped into the King Cay offices. Collier beamed, shaking them them each by the hand as though he had found a lost brother.

Then he sat himself behind a table with two rows of chairs facing him, and waiting for the chairs to fill. Two of his aides positioned themselves either side of the table, one ready to turn pages laden with diagrams and pages of statistics on a large flip chart, the other armed with a billiard cue and a large map on an easel, and he launched into a glowing panegyric for his project. His audience listened attentively, and wondered how long it would be before they could get back to a bar.

Lindsay watched Collier, and wondered. He seemed more like a smart salesman than a supersmart villain, hardly a man to consort with the likes of Valucetti and men in dark glasses. But perhaps the two smartnesses travelled hand in hand. He watched him close with a flourish, but asked no questions. He was seated next to Chuck Wright, and they had a compact. Afterwards he walked back to the British Colonial with the American, and he was thoughtful.

They strolled into the British Colonial garden, and Wright eyed him enquiringly. ‘What did you think?’

Lindsay made a face. ‘He seems a bit of a bullshitter.’

Wright shook his head. ‘I think he’s tied up something good. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him that pleased with himself.’ He paused. ‘Maybe he heard about the cops getting to Valucetti.’

Lindsay gestured towards the table under the overhanging palm. ‘Maybe he should buy us a beer.’

They sat cradling ice cold Budweisers. Wright sipped thoughtfully. ‘He’s still gonna have problems.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, they say Vitoria is a cocanero, a Cuban drug king. He’s a slimy guy, you’ll meet him at Collier’s party tonight. Drugs have gotta be bad news, they don’t mix with prestige leisure projects. He’s gotta get rid of the man if he wants to fly.’

‘What does Altenburg think of him?’

‘He wants to marry Altenburg’s daughter.’

Lindsay thought for a moment. ‘Maybe I should go and talk to him.’

Wright looked dubious. ‘Altenburg don’t talk to nobody. This is the Bahamas. These guys don’t share their secrets.’

Lindsay thought of Dorothy Hanson.

The American shook his head. ‘You really think you can reach him through his mother-in-law?’

Lindsay recounted his flight from New York. ‘She didn’t sound very keen on him, and she invited me up to his villa.’

‘You think he might dish some dirt on the Latino?’

‘Maybe. Depends on whether he wants him as a son-in-law.’ Lindsay thought quickly. Dorothy Hanson had promised to introduce him to Delia, Delia could introduce him to her father. Altenburg might put the skids under Vitoria. Maybe he would still get his film rights.

He lunched, and swam again, and tanned again, but this time with rather more circumspection. Then he returned to the bar, for rum punches and gossip. But he remained wholly guarded. Swann and the rest of his little flock might gossip as much as they like. But he was a freelance, and must keep his own counsel.

Then it was evening, and the sun was setting, and it was time for Collier’s buffet. A pair of taxis ferried Swann and his charges to the East Hill Club, a large colonial mansion set in a big garden on a ridge overlooking Bay Street, and they found themselves in partyland. Coloured lanterns lit up a courtyard behind the house milling with Collier people, men and women with money to burn. Polite waiters in white jackets cruised the crowd, bearing trays of champagne glasses, and Lindsay found himself bouncing from conversation to conversation that scanned him, and ditched him, when he confessed to not being rich. Nobody seemed to be talking about anything but money, and more money, and much more money. A nice blonde, perhaps in her thirties, smiled encouragingly, and he beamed. But it was a mistake to tell her that he was a travel writer.

‘Oh, shit.’ The woman pushed the word out of her mouth as though she had met up with something obscene. ‘I guess you’re just here to kiss Collier’s ass.’

The next moment she was gone. Lindsay took a fresh glass of champagne. He was not sure that he was enjoying himself.

He was still smarting as a hand fastened on his wrist. Dorothy Hanson stood inspecting him approvingly. She had rouged herself up as brightly as a parrot, and was garbed in an extraordinary confection of pink tulle. ‘Right, young man. I’ve brought Delia to meet you.’

Lindsay realised that a girl stood behind her. She was tall, very nearly as tall as himself, with black hair, raven hair, and the most beautiful eyes, green eyes, but with a topaz sheen, like the eyes of a tiger, dressed in a smart cocktail party dress tailored in expensive looking shot green silk. She stared at him coolly, inspecting him, and her eyes gleamed momentarily. He knew that he was being assessed.

‘My grandmother tells me that you are a journalist.’ Her tone was cool, with a trace of a European accent.

Lindsay inclined his head, a man paying respect to a princess. ‘En frente de usted, senorita, no soy nada.’

The girl’s topaz green eyes flashed, and suddenly she laughed. ‘Well, you have some nice words.’

Dorothy Hanson beamed at Lindsay. She had a feeling that things had started off well. ‘I didn’t know you could speak Spanish, young man.’

‘Just a little, ma’am.’ He could not take his eyes from her companion.

‘I guess you are here to tell the world about King Cay…’ The girl’s voice trailed away invitingly.

‘Present and future…’ Lindsay left his sentence hanging as well. Two could play at hints and suggestions.

‘Oh, really?’ Her green eyes gleamed again. ‘You want to know a lot.’

‘As much as people will tell me.’

‘Aha.’ Now the girl’s green eyes were cool again, measuring and assessing him. Dorothy Hanson had vanished into the throng around them, gone to hunt celebrities. ‘My grandmother says your name is Richard?’ She waited for Lindsay’s assent. ‘You may call me Delia. My father thinks everyone should call me Cordelia, but it is rather a mouthful.’

‘C’est aussi joli que vos yeux.’

‘Ah.’ Delia laughed again, and her green eyes danced. ‘Un monsieur courtois. What else?’

‘Ein bisschen Deutsch.’

Her eyes clouded. ‘That is my father’s language. Perhaps we better stay in English.’ She touched his forearm, and her fingers were cool. ‘I understand you helped my grandmother at New York. Did she summon you?’

‘Young man.’ Lindsay essayed a passable imitation. ‘I’ll give you ten dollars to help me.’

‘Oh, dear.’ She smiled again, and Lindsay judged that now she approved of him. ‘You must have charmed her. Grandma and her dollars are very hard to part.’

‘I think I was the only other passenger.’

‘You are modest.’ Delia collected her thoughts, seeking a way to harvest information, without revealing things that should not be revealed. ‘What can I tell you?’

Lindsay decided to launch a frontal attack. ‘I’ve heard that your father may not like Collier’s new partner.’

‘You mean Vitoria?’ Delia’s eyes clouded. This man was a journalist, and a stranger. She did not like Vitoria. But she was not sure he was a safe topic for party conversation. ‘You will have to talk to my father about things like that.’

‘I’ve heard he’d like to marry you.’

‘Oh, have you?’ Her green eyes flashed. ‘Lots of people want to do lots of things.’

‘Do you want to marry him?’

For a moment Lindsay wondered whether Delia was about to slap his face. She had coloured up fiercely, and her green eyes blazed.

‘I think you ask too many questions, Mr. Lindsay.’

Lindsay took an apologetic step backwards. He could see that he had angered her, but she had not stormed off. ‘I’m sorry. I just asked because I want to have a good look at him.’

It was the right thing to say. Delia looked a little mollified. She repeated his words, turning them back as a question. ‘A good look? What is a good look?’

‘I’ve heard he makes his money in strange ways.’

‘You must talk to my father.’ She turned to look at the people milling around them. ‘He is here, somewhere. I will bring him to you.’

A hand held a glass of champagne up in front of Lindsay. Swann was beaming. ‘Good party. I see you’ve met Delia.’

Lindsay beamed as he took it. ‘She’s a billion dollar heiress.’

Swann shook his head. ‘I don’t think journalists cut much ice with her, dear boy. You’d need a castle or two.’

A dark haired man in a dark blue blazer materialised at Lindsay’s shoulder. A second man, rather tough looking in a dark suit, stood behind him. He looked like a villain, but he was not wearing dark glasses.

‘Excuse me.’ The dark haired man spoke with a Latin-American accent, and something told Lindsay that he was face-to-face with Vitoria. ‘I think you were talking to Miss Altenburg.’

Lindsay stared at him coolly. He was a guest, not some kind of servant or intruder.

The man seemed to realise that he had begun on a wrong footing, and smiled. Lindsay judged his smile somewhere on the wrong side of slimy. ‘I wish to speak with her.’

‘You must be Mr. Vitoria?’

The man’s eyes were suddenly hard. ‘And you?’

Now it was Lindsay’s turn to smile. ‘My name is Richard Lindsay. I write for The Times.’

‘New York Times?’ Vitoria did not look pleased, and the heavyset man frowned menacingly.

‘London Times.’

‘Ah.’ Vitoria seemed relieved, and held out his hand. ‘I am sorry I was so abrupt. Some of the American newspapermen here do nothing but ask questions.’

Lindsay shrugged. He wanted to ask one or two questions himself, but maybe not at a party. He needed to know more about this man. But he could not resist one sally. ‘I’ve heard you’re planning to buy Altenburg’s villa.’

Vitoria pursed his lips, and then smiled thinly. He patted Lindsay’s arm. ‘This is The Bahamas, my friend. Many people say many things. I would like to do a lot of things, but things all take time. Talk to me again tomorrow, on the island.’

He vanished back into the crowd, and Lindsay found himself talking to a Californian lawyer, a smooth man in a tropical shirt, who essayed a few questions, revealed nothing but a mumbled first name, and went off again. Lindsay judged that he had given the wrong kind of answers. A queue formed close to him, filing along a tempting buffet, and Lindsay piled his plate with lobster salad, equipped himself with a fresh glass of champagne, and looked around for somewhere to sit and eat in peace.

‘Richard.’ He heard Delia’s voice. ‘I’d like you to meet my father.’

Lindsay balanced his salad to shake hands with a tall blue-eyed aquiline man in a cream linen suit. The man stared at him a little unnervingly, as though memorising his face.

‘My daughter says you are interested in the way things are developing on the island.’ He spoke English with a faint transatlantic accent, and had something of Wotan’s haughty sternness.

Lindsay nodded. ‘I talked to Bailey on a plane from London to New York.’

‘Aha.’ The blue eyes gleamed, just a little. ‘Jack was not a very good investor.’

‘Wrong kind of friends?’

‘Maybe.’ Altenburg smiled coldly. He wondered that heaven had decided to deliver Wotan’s man to him so easily. Perhaps it was a good omen. ‘You must come and talk to me at my villa. I think you are going to the party tomorrow?’

Lindsay nodded.

‘I will see you there.’ Altenburg turned away to shake hands with a man, and then turned back to Lindsay. ‘You see? I must do my social round, and I must circulate tomorrow as well. But maybe you will then be my guest?’

‘I’d like that.’ Lindsay beamed. Everything was working out very much better than he had expected. Perhaps even freelances could look at billion dollar heiresses.

A woman’s hand touched his arm, and he found himself looking down at Sylvia, the gambling girl from Paradise Island. Now she was wearing a very tight dress in white satin with a very great deal of suntanned cleavage, and seemed to be teetering a little, as if she had knocked back a little too much champagne. She smiles up at him a little mistily. ‘’Lo, handsome. How’re you coming along?’

Lindsay wondered whether she still wanted a thousand dollars. Champagne had begun to heat his blood, and he felt desire mounting in him. Delia was better looking. But Sylvia was very available. He looked down at her, trapped by indecision.

‘I got to talk to you.’ She moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘This guy come to me, says he wants to have a little ball back at his house. We got three girls together, he tells me to find myself a man, some guy who might like a little fun.’ She tugged at Lindsay, making him bend towards her. ‘Y’know, like real good kinda fun?’

Lindsay felt his indecision melting. But real good fun sounded pricey.

Sylvia shook her head impatiently. ‘No, baby. This guy, he got all the dough in the world. He just want to play games, and watch people playing games. You looked after me over at Paradise, I ain’t forgot that. I think to myself, I owe you a good one, if ever another guy picks up the tab. So now he’s going to pick up the tab.’

She stared at Lindsay with eyes of lust and desire. ‘You come with me, and I will give you a time you will never forget.’

Lindsay stared at her, and she reached up to caress the back of his neck, and he was looking straight down the front of her dress, and she had warm full breasts, and seemed to be wearing the skimpiest bra in the whole wide world. She leaned against him, and he felt her hand stroke lightly across the front of his slacks, and his indecision vanished completely.

Sylvia felt very pleased with herself. She had found her nice rich Englishman again. Now she could take him to this little party, and work on him hard. She giggled to herself. Maybe on his hardness. Then she would follow through at Collier’s party on the island, sex him up again, and tempt some of his money out of him, give him a good, good time, and persuade him to open his purse. She glanced at her watch. The man had said ten o’clock, and time was moving forward. She steered Lindsay onto a small dance floor, and draped herself tightly against him. The man had promised a thousand bucks for a good performance, and she needed the Englishman on top form, because party girls did not often make such money, not even on Paradise Island. She would perform, and make her Englishman perform, and he would make her a winner, because she knew she was a star in these things, and she was on a path to stardom.

Sylvia was stopping by in the Bahamas on her way to Hollywood. She had done commercials at home in Brazil, and played bit parts in several Brazilian TV soaps. Studio casting couches had provided excellent training, and she had a talent for languages. Now she wanted to shine big in the film world. She had already saved most of the money she needed for her airfare, a second-hand car, and a small apartment. Another couple of thousand, and she could be on her way. She was counting on the party, and her Englishman.

The party promised to be interesting. Collier had sent a man down to the casino to recruit ten of the best looking party girls for his two parties, paying a couple of hundred each just to smile and be charming. But then a big man with a menacing expression had approached her.

‘My boss thinks you look nice.’ The big man had spoken in Spanish. It was one of her three languages, along with Portuguese and English, and a girl bound for Hollywood needed no others. ‘He is having a little party later tonight, and he would like you to come. He has already invited two other girls. Find yourself a young man, he would like that best. Somebody virile, who pleases you. He would like to watch you, because he enjoys that, and he will give a gift of one thousand dollars. We will leave here at ten.’

Sylvia was a smart girl, and they had haggled for a few moments. She had tried to up the ante, but the big man had been adamant: the gift was one thousand dollars, not a cent more, and there were others that might be persuaded. However he had peeled off two hundred-dollar bills, as earnests of good faith, and she had scanned the party for likely targets, virile young men who might also prove generous, and she had spied her Englishman, and she had known that fate had decided.

They danced together, and she felt him heating with her warmth, and knew that she would play music with this man, because he was tall, and slim, and growing against her. A black-haired girl came close by, a girl in an expensive green silk shirtfront dress, with a hunting look in her big green eyes, but Sylvia swung her Englishman deftly round, clasping her hands around his neck, to steer him neatly out of a potentially troublesome situation, and Lindsay was totally unaware of her presence. Sylvia smiled to herself. Soon she would be in Hollywood, and soon she would be a big star.

Freelance 22