CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE – KING CAY
There are times, in dreams, when a flash of reality can intervene, transposing a dream into sudden and waking awareness. Lindsay dreamed of a woman fleeing from him, completely naked, and trying to flag down a big truck. And then he was in his bedroom at the British Colonial, and somebody was ferretting in his clothing, laid on a chair at his bedside, but very softly and gently, with little mouse movements. He opened his eyes fractionally, like a crocodile, barely moving his eyelids, and saw Sylvia reaching for his wallet, and she was dressed.
His reaction was instant and fierce. He erupted out of the bed, grabbing at her hands and throwing himself against her, so that he sent her flying, and she had his wallet between her fingers. He was furious.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
Sylvia sprawled on the floor, with his wallet between them. Lindsay moved likes a striking snake, scooping it up safely. He glowered at her.
‘I saved you from a damned good hiding.’
Sylvia crouched in on herself. She had not seen much of the wallet’s contents, but it must have totalled at least five hundred dollars. She said nothing – there was nothing for her to say.
Lindsay stood looking down at her. ‘I ought to beat the living daylights out of you, you stupid cow.’ He thought of the belt in his slacks. But she would probably howl, and it was too early in the morning for bedroom noises.
He sat down heavily on the bed, to gather his thoughts. The stupid, misbegotten cow. He had stowed his big fat envelope safely in the British Colonial safe. But his wallet held several hundred dollars in bills, plus a couple of credit cards, with £5,000 limits on each. He felt vengeful. He got to his feet, and looked down at her, cowering at his feet, and felt himself grow tumescent on her fear.
‘Strip off, and get on the bed.’
Sylvia undressed. But this time she did not tease, because she was fearful. She took off everything that she was wearing, and watched him, because she hoped that at some point he would weaken. But Lindsay stood like a man of iron, and his eyes were wholly impassive, and she sat on the edge, looking up at him. Lindsay moved to the side of the bed, and he was pointing directly at her, and she knew how she must mark her surrender. She moved towards him, to take him in her mouth again, but this time with reverence.
The bedside telephone began to ring. For a moment they were both too taken aback to understand the source of the noise. Then Lindsay pulled himself away reluctantly to lift the receiver. It was Swann.
‘Good morning, dear boy.’ The PR man’s tone was breezy, as though he had just come in from an early morning swim. It was just half past seven. ‘Collier expects us all to be ready by half past eight. We’ll take a cab out to the airport – he’s laying on transport.’ He paused. ‘How did you make out?’
Lindsay grunted at the telephone, and dropped the receiver back into place. He needed to get rid of Sylvia, and clean himself up, in that order, because there was no way he could have this woman padding around his belonging whilst he was having a shower. She was not to be trusted, not even an inch. He scowled at her. ‘Get dressed, and push off.’
Sylvia dressed slowly. This Englishman was no ordinary man, the kind to which she was accustomed. This was a man who could control himself, and a master. She slipped into her white satin dress, now rather creased and crumpled, and hesitated. ‘I am sorry.’ She looked up at Lindsay with wholly doe-like submission.
Lindsay padded to the door to open it for her. ‘Push off.’ His voice was stern.
She stopped as she passed, raising herself on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek, very tenderly. ‘I will see you again, on the island, and we will be lovers again.’
Lindsay shook his head. His shower was calling.
She kissed him again, smiling at him as the door closed on her. ‘It will be my gift, and I will ask for nothing.’
Lindsay dressed quickly, choosing a dark blue silk shirt and pale blue chinos, and found Swann and the four other members of his press party already breakfasting. The PR man eyed him enviously. ‘What happened?’
Lindsay looked nonchalant. ‘She took me on to a little party, and came back here with me.’
Five pairs of eyes stared at him questioningly, and he yawned, for effect. ‘I had a good thrash.’ In the circumstances it seemed a very fair summary. The five pairs of eyes continued to stare, and he shook his head firmly. ‘And no, she didn’t cost me a cent.’
One of the golf correspondents muttered something under his breath, and it sounded as though he might have been cursing freelances, but Lindsay ignored him. He needed breakfast, with several cups of strong black coffee, a glass of fresh orange juice and a nice stack of griddle cakes to provide energy for the day ahead. Others might think what they pleased. He was a freelance, and freelances owed no obligations.
They ate well, and arrived at Nassau airport to find two four-engined Convairs waiting, with Collier’s men busily marshalling launch party guests. Collier joined them as a group of large black Bahamians decanted from a bus, the men in dark suits and their women in exotic dresses, accompanied by several senior police officers.
He looked very pleased with himself, beaming at Swann. ‘Simon, I’d like to present you and your good people to the government of the Bahamas.’
Swann looked as though he might bow.
Collier bobbed deferentially at a Bahamian in the centre of the group. ‘I have a British press party here, Mr. Panton. May I present them to you?’
Brewster Panton inclined his head magisterially, and the other Bahamians formed themselves into an extended reception line. Lindsay shook a succession of hands and smiled charmingly. He would start his working day later.
Then they trooped out towards the waiting aircraft. But the most senior police officer, a European, smart in khaki and dark blue, with several campaign medals in a ribon on his chest, and silver braid on his hat, lagged to talk to a young black man. The young man was dressed for a party, in a bright beach shirt and white jeans cut off at his calves, but had the serious, questing look of a plainclothes man.
‘You see the one in the blue silk shirt?’
The young man was attentive. ‘I see him, sah.’
‘Keep an eye on him.’
‘You want him, sah?’
‘No.’ Police Commissioner Hayes waved the question away. ‘I’m just keeping an eye on him for a friend. Don’t let him out of your sight.’ He thought of Altenburg, and the villa on the island, with its small encampment of dark green huts. He had a man working at the villa as a servant, and knew a good deal of what went on there. He would not put it past Altenburg to try something underhand.
The young plainclothes man nodded, and Hayes joined the queue, smiling affably at his fellow passengers. He had Lindsay marked.
Lindsay looked around for Sylvia as he waited to climb into the plane, but could not see her. Perhaps she would be on the second Convair.
The plane taxied out onto the runway, gathering speed, and rose smoothly, climbing out over an azure sea. The flight was short: just twenty minutes, and then it was descending again towards a large island with an airstrip carved in a dazzling white limestone line across a tangled mass of dusty green pine scrub. Lindsay and his fellow journalists waited for a fleet of big limousines to whisk the Bahamians away, and then queued to board an elderly Parisian bus. All the passengers were in party mood, all were expectant.
Music pulsed as the bus pulled up in front of the King Cay clubhouse. The building was a large hacienda in gleaming white, with a red tiled roof, all colonnades and arcades. A steel band played at the top of a broad flight of steps leading up to the building, and Swann led the way to a large bar with barmen busily pouring rum punches. A second band began to play on a terrace behind the clubhouse, and couples began to dance in the sunshine.
Suddenly a bugle sounded a clarion call, and the music ceased. The Governor arrived, immaculate in a white uniform and escorted by a smart detachment from the Bahamas Regiment, to perform the opening ceremony. Another clarion call, and Panton made a speech, and Collier expressed his gratitude to all his guests for their presence, and outlined his ambition to make King Cay a wonder amongst leisure developments. Then the bar began serving fresh rum punches, and the bands began playing again.
Lindsay explored, looking for Sylvia and Delia, hoping that he would not meet them both at the same time. Delia stood talking to her father. Altenburg already knew that Collier had managed to raise his ten million, and was tieing up the last details in his deal to buy wholly him out of the island, and wondered where he would reinvest the proceeds. Perhaps somewhere on the Mediterranean coast, in Sardinia, or Andalucia. He could build himself a new villa, and develop a big project all on his own, without having to deal with American mobsters and Cuban cocaneros. He would be sad to leave King Cay, because he had helped create Collier’s dream. But the island was not very convenient.
‘Will you miss King Cay, Vati?’ Delia used the diminutive she had learned as a child.
Altenburg shrugged.’We shall start again.’ He patted his daughter comfortingly on the shoulder. They had spent pleasant holidays on the island. ‘Maybe something near Malaga.’
‘In the land of decaying castles?’ She smiled dreamily.
Altenburg laughed. ‘I will find you a prince, a real Grandee of Spain.’
‘To make me a principesa? I would like that.’ Delia remembered Lindsay. ‘I don’t suppose you want to talk to grandma’s journalist any more, now Vitoria is out of the picture.’
Altenburg shrugged. ‘Why not? Dorothy said that he was a travel writer. He might prove useful.’ He spoke thoughtfully. He had made a promise, and he would not go back on it. ‘I will still talk to him this afternoon, because I would like to help shape his future.’
A man approached, and he bent to kiss Delia’s cheek. ‘Now I must go and sign lots of papers.’
He followed the man to the clubhouse diningroom, already laid for a feast. Collier and Panton sat facing each other across a table that had been cleared for them. Collier’s two senior aides, and two members of the Bahamian government, sat with them.
Panton and Collier both get to their feet. Collier was beaming. ‘We’re ready to sign.’
Altenburg shook them both by the hand. He was not happy with the way blacks had taken over the islands, but he was on his way, and politeness cost nothing. sighed. ‘It was a pity.’
‘You don’t want to leave?’ Collier set a chair for him. ‘You’re gonna be rich.’
‘I liked my villa.’
Panton merely smiled. Carlton Jennings, the Bahamian Justice Minister, had been busy assembling a dossier about Altenburg’s activities on King Cay, just in case he changed his mind. There had been a small fishing settlement on the north shore of the island, before his arrival. Then the fishermen and their families had vanished without trace. Altenburg had also made a bad name for himself in World War II. He was said to have much blood on his hands, and the fishermen had added some more. He had begun training Cuban exiles, and Vitoria had planned to use his airstrip to fly cocaine into Florida. He was not a good man to have around.
Lindsay found Sylvia on a balcony, playing coy around rich Americans. She was in white again, because she knew that it was a colour that suited her very well, but now her dress was white linen, very fresh and pretty, and she had a hibiscus flower tucked behind her right ear. She still smarted a little from the beating she had taken, but she treated the pain philosophically. She had made a thousand dollars, and found herself a rich hero. She intended working on him, until it was time for her to leave for Hollywood. He might not provide cash, but she knew a nice jeweller with a concession at the British Colonial, and men liked buying pretty things.
‘Let us go to the beach, my love.’ She snuggled close to Lindsay, to nibble at his earlobe, stroking his hip gently. She always liked to know where men kept their assets. ‘I will make magnificent love to you in the water, just where it is not deep.’
Lindsay wondered where he would leave his wallet, if he went to a beach with Sylvia. He shook his head. ‘I’m enjoying myself.’ He signalled to a passing waiter, and took two rum punches. Sylvia was not drinking, but it was polite to be companionable.
She pouted. ‘I will go and find another man.’
He saw Delia, standing a little way distant, and waved. ‘I can find another girl.’
He got to his feet, leaving Sylvia to guard his punches. Delia watched him approach, and smiled, a smile of huge green eyes, tiger eyes. ‘I don’t want to disturb you.’ She looked beyond him, her eyes gleaming triumphantly. ‘She is very pretty. You were with her last night.’
Lindsay grinned. Green eyes, tiger eyes, seemed to have just an edge, just a shadow, of something akin to jealousy. ‘Nice to see you here.’ He eyed Delia admiringly. Now she was in dark brown silk, and it was a colour that suited her very well.
She tossed her chin. The little girl in white was a bar girl, she was sure of it – she had a calculating, cash-register looked about her. ‘My father wants me to come and pick you up here this afternoon. He will arrange a flight back to Nassau for you.’ She paused. ‘He has sold his interest in the island.’
Lindsay stared at her. ‘The lot?’
‘Everything.’ She hesitated. ‘Some Americans are taking over. They are Jewish. My father does not like Jews.’
Lindsay shrugged. He held no prejudice against anyone. He imnagined that his story was also blowing away in shreds. But it did not matter. He was not short of money.
A clarion call rang out, and she held out her hand. ‘I think Collier is about to tell the world now. He and my father will make a joint announcement, but I do not want to hear it, because it will close a chapter in my life, and I am not very good at letting go of things. I will find you here at three.’
Lindsay touched her fingers, and she was gone.
Sylvia bristled visibly as he returned. ‘Who was she, that tall, proud thing?’
‘This used to be her father’s island.’
She made a face. ‘I don’t like her, querido. She is bad news.’
Lindsay pulled her to her feet. He wanted to hear what Collier had to say, and it was always handy to have a pretty girl in tow.
Collier and Altenburg held a joint impromptu press conference, seated jointly at a large table, with Panton between them. Collier was ebullient. His deal with Altenburg and the Bahamian government handed him a crown, and now he could run King Cay just the way he wanted. He knew his new investors would stay sleeping partners, providing he kept the dollars rolling in, and he had cleaned up two nasty piles of shit. He expected Panton might use Altenburg’s villa some of the time, but he could rent it for the rest of the year.
His audience applauded as the three men signed, raising their rum punches. Collier had come up trumps. But a young black man in a brightly coloured beach shirt did not drink, because he was on duty, and he was watchful.
Lunch came as a buffet in the clubhouse diningroom. Lindsay introduced Sylvia to Swann and his companions, and Ted Harding, the Financial Times golf correspondent, tried very hard to engage her attention. But Sylvia summed him up in one look, and knew that he had no money. She might abandon her Englishman for a nice millionaire, but she had no time for impoverished sportsmen.
They drifted into early afternoon on a raft of rum punches, and she made a fresh attempt to talk Lindsay into going swimming. But he was waiting for Delia.
She returned to the clubhouse at three o’clock exactly, walking straight up to him, and totally ignoring Sylvia.
‘My father has gone back to his villa, and says he can see you now.’
Sylvia scowled, and Delia lifted her chin in disdain. She could recognise a bar girl anywhere. She started back towards the clubhouse entrance, and Lindsay made to follow her. But Sylvia held onto his arm.
‘Don’t go with that woman.’ She pouted again. ‘She is a witch, she has green eyes. Come with me, to the beach, and I will love you magnificently, on the sand. It will be a gift from me to you.’
Lindsay disengaged himself gently. ‘I must. I want to talk to her father.’
‘Please.’ Now Sylvia was on the verge of tears. ‘She has something bad for you, I can feel it.’
Lindsay pulled himself free. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘And if you are not?’
He laughed. ‘Give me an hour, and then call the police.’
Delia was already at the wheel of a small jeep. She drove at speed, bouncing the vehicle over the limestone roadway, and then turned off along a narrower path, until she reached a gate set in a high metal fence. A man waited, dressed in pale green fatigues, and Lindsay could see that he was armed with a NATO issue FLN rifle. He opened the gate, and closed it again behind them. Lindsay felt himself twitch. He had a strange feeling that he was returning to Wotan’s villa in Berlin.
He glanced at Delia quickly. ‘Your father must be very keen on security.’
She shrugged. ‘We had some trouble with drug smugglers.’ It was not quite the truth, because Vitoria had never threatened. But she knew better than to tell a journalist about the CIA training camp up beyond the airstrip.
She drove on, to stop in front of a large white villa with a colonnaded frontage. Altenburg stood waiting for them. He smiled welcomingly. He had plans for Mr. Lindsay, but they were not something he wanted his daughter to know about. He had already told her that they needed an hour on their own, maybe more, and that he did not want to be disturbed. She should pack, ready for leaving, and then return to the King Cay clubhouse to collect her grandmother. He would fly Lindsay back to Nassau himself. They would leave the island, and she would be none the wiser. Franco still commanded in Spain, and the Caudillo was sympathetic to the Knights.
He held out his hand. ‘It is good of you to come up here, Mr. Lindsay.’ He waited for Delia to drive off, and then gestured at an open doorway behind him. ‘Come in. We must talk.’
Lindsay stood on the gravel driveway and stretched. Then he walked towards the doorway, blinking as he stepped into a large drawingroom. Suddenly invisible men pinioned his arms from behind. He struggled, but he was held by two strong young men in pale green fatigues. A third man placed a hood over his head, blinding him, and he felt a needle pierce his arm, and he lost consciousness.
Sylvia was a superstitious girl, like all party girls, like all Brazilian starlets on their way to Hollywood. She had a presentiment that something untoward was happening to Lindsay, and she was fearful. She was devoting a great deal of her time to this Englishman, and getting involved with him, despite all her best judgement, and had no wish at all to lose him to some stuck-up thing with long legs and big green eyes. She glanced at her watch from time to time, and danced half-heartedly with a succession of middle-aged Americans. She was sure that some of them, perhaps even most of them, were rich, and possibly very rich indeed, but she had no heart for hunting. Half an hour passed, and then three-quarters of an hour, and he did not return, and she began seriously to worry. A young black man in a bright beach shirt homed in one her, and she prepared to repel him. She needed to find a policeman. The man said something, and she scowled at him, giving him one of her hard looks.
He smiled politely. ‘I axed you if you had seen Mistah Lindsay.’
She frowned. It was the name of her Englishman.
‘I see’d you with him, ‘bout maybe an hour ago.’ The young black man had taken time off for a quick plateful of lobster salad, and he was a little concerned, because his charge seemed to have vanished.
‘He went off with a girl, her father used to have this island.’ Sylvia’s concern began to mount as she spoke. She looked at her watch, it was a nice little Cartier, a present from an admirer. Lindsay had been gone for just over an hour. ‘He told me to tell a policeman if he did not come back.’ She listened to the sound of her own voice, and the way it filled with concern, and her fear now grew very fast. ‘I think, I think…’ Suddenly she sobbed. ‘I think something bad is happening.’
The young black man looked at her, and swallowed hard. ‘Stay here. Don’t move.’ Then he was gone. A moment later he returned with two policemen in uniform. One was a European, and he had silver braid on his hat.
He spoke to her gently. ‘You were with Richard?’
Sylvia nodded tearfully. ‘A girl came for him. She said her father wanted to speak to him.’
Jack Hayes pulled out a handkerchief. ‘Use this.’ He waited for Sylvia to dab her eyes. ‘What kind of girl?’
‘A big stuck-up thing in brown silk.’
Hayes turned to his companion. ‘Must have been Cordelia Altenburg. Send a car up there with a couple of good people. I’ll get a plane up to block their strip.’