"What do you say we give it a break now, Papa old sport, go up on deck and stretch the legs, what?" Having recovered the passage money, Gareth had accomplished the task he had set himself, and he was now anxious to return to the open deck where Vicky Camberwell and Jake were becoming much too friendly for his peace of mind.
Every time Gareth had been forced by nature to make a brief journey to the poop rail, he had seen the two of them together and they seemed to be laughing a great deal, which was always a bad sign. Vicky was in the forefront of any action, passing tools to Jake and offering general encouragement, as he worked at fine-tuning the cars and making last minute preparations for the desert crossing or the two of them sat with Gregorius while amidst great hilarity he gave them basic lessons in the Amharic language. He wondered distractedly what else they were up to.
However, Gareth was a man sure of his priorities and his first concern was to recover his money from Papadopoulos.
Having done so, he could now return to sheep-dogging Vicky Camberwell.
"It's been a lot of fun, Papa." He half rose from the table, folding the grimy wad of banknotes into his back pocket and gathering the pile of coins with his free hand.
Captain Papadopoulos reached into the depths of the Arabic gown he wore and produced a knife with an ornately carved handle and a viciously curved blade. He balanced it lightly in the palm of his hand and his single eye glittered coldly at Gareth.
"Deal!" he said, and Gareth smiled blandly and sank back into his seat. He picked up the cards and cut them with a ripping sound and the knife disappeared into Papadopoulos's gown once more as he watched the shuffle intently.
"Actually, I do feel like a few more hands," Gareth murmured.
"Just getting warmed up, hey?" The slaver altered course as she cleared the tip of the great horn of Africa and rounded Cape Guardafui.
Before her lay the long gut of the Gulf of Aden and a run of five hundred miles westwards to French Somaliland.
The Hindu mate came down and whispered fearfully to his Captain.
"What troubles the fellow?" Gareth asked.
"He worries about the English blockade."
"A "So do I" Gareth answered. "Shouldn't we go up on deck? Deal,"said Papadopoulos.
Below them they heard the steady thumping beat of the big diesel engine begin, and the vibration of the propeller shaft spinning in its bed.
The mate had her under sail and power now, and the motion of the ship changed immediately, the thrust of the propeller combining with the push of the full spread of her canvas, and she flew towards the vivid purple and pink flush of sky and piled cumulus cloud behind which the sun was beginning to set.
The mate had set a course which would take him swiftly down the middle of the Gulf, out of sight of Africa on his port side and Arabia on the starboard. The HirondeUe was making twenty-five knots, for the sea breeze was on her best point of sailing and a day and two nights would see them in and out again. He sent one of his best men -to the masthead with a telescope and he wondered which the English viewed more sternly young black girls in chains or Vickers machine guns in wooden cases. Mournfully he concluded that either of them would be lethal and he shrilled at his masthead to keep a strict watch.
The sun was sinking with agonizing slowness, almost dead ahead and the wind rose steadily, driving the Hirondelle on deeper into the gut.
Jake Barton wriggled out of the engine hatch of Miss Wobbly and grinned at Vicky Camberwell who sat on the sponson above him swinging her long legs idly, with the wind in her hair and the tan she had picked up in the last few days gilding her arms and flushing at her cheeks. She had lost the dark rings of worry and the paleness of fatigue, and looked now like a schoolgirl, young and carefree and gay.
"That's the best I can do," said Jake, beginning to scour the black grease from his arms with Scrubbs Ammonia.
"She's running so sweetly, I could take her out at Le Mans." Her knees were at the level of Jake's eyes and her skirts had tucked up high. He felt his heart stop as he glanced down the smooth length of her thigh.
Her skin had a lustre and sheen, as though made of some precious and rare substance.
Vicky saw the direction of his gaze and brought her knees together sharply, although a smile touched her lips. She jumped down lightly on to the deck, steadying herself against the Hirondelle's rolling action with a touch on the muscled hardness of his arm. Vicky thoroughly enjoyed the admiration of an attractive male and Gareth had been closeted in the Captain's cabin these last five days. She smiled up at Jake. He was tall but the bush of dark hair that curled around his ears gave him the look of a small boy which was again quickly dispelled by the strong jaw line and the fine networks of creases that radiated from the outer corners of his eyes.
She realized suddenly that he was on the point of stooping to kiss her, and she felt a delicious indecision the slightest encouragement would set Jake on a violent collision course with Gareth and might seriously endanger the whole expedition and the story she wanted so badly. At that moment she noticed, as if for the first time, that Jake's mouth was wide and rutI and his lips were delicately shaped for the bigness and hairiness of him. His chin and cheeks were blued with a day's growth of beard and she knew it would feel rough and electric against her own peach-smooth cheeks. Suddenly she wanted to feel that, and she lifted her chin slightly and knew that he would read that want in the sparkle of her eyes.
The masthead shrieked like a startled gull and instantly the Hirondelle was plunged into frantic activity. The Mohammedan mate echoed his shrieks, but at a higher volume, and his grubby robes flapped around him in the wind. His eyes rolled in his dark brown skull and his toothless moutth opened so wide that Jake could see the little pink glottis dangling in the back of his throat.
"What is it? "Vicky demanded, her hand still on Jake's arm.
"Trouble," he answered grimly, and they turned as the door of the poop cabin flew open and Papadopoulos rushed out with his queue twitching like the tail of a lioness and his single eye blinking rapidly. He still clutched a fan of cards in his right hand.
"One more card and I make gin!" he howled bitterly, and threw the cards into the wind and grabbed the mate by the front of his gown, shouting into his open but now silent mouth.
The mate pointed aloft and Papadopoulos dropped him and hailed the masthead in Arabic, and Jake listened to the swift exchange.
"A British destroyer sounds like "Dauntless"," he muttered.
"You speak Arabic?" Vicky asked, and Jake stilled the question irritably and listened again.
"The destroyer has seen us. She's altering course to intercept."
Jake looked quickly at the smouldering globe of the sun, the crinkles around his eyes puckering up thoughtfully as he listened to the heated argument in Arabic taking place on the poop deck.
"Are you two having fun?" Gareth Swales asked, smiling but with a glitter in his eyes as he glanced significantly at Vicky's hand still on Jake's arm. He had come out of the cabin as silently as a panther.
Vicky dropped her hand guiltily and immediately wished she had not. She owed Gareth Swales no debts and she answered his stare defiantly, before turning back to Jake and finding him gone.
"What is it, Papa?" Gareth called up at the poop-deck, and the Captain snarled, "Your Royal mucking Navy that's what it is." And he shook his fist at the northern horizon. "The Dauntless she based at Aden, blockade for slavers."
"Where is she?" Gareth's expression changed swiftly and he strode to the rail.
"She's coming fast masthead watching her. She'll be over the horizon pretty damn quick." Papadopoulos turned from Gareth and roared a series of orders at his crew.
Immediately they swarmed down on to the main deck and gathered about the first car it was Priscilla the Pig swaying gently on her suspension as the schooner plunged ahead.