I lit a cigarette.
‘I’ll talk to Bernie.’
We sat in silence until the Caddy pulled up outside L’Espandon where Pam and de Mamey were waiting.
As I got out of the car, Kendrick said, ‘I hope we can work together, cheri. I have confidence in you.’
I paused to stare at him.
‘That’s more than I have in you.’ I joined Pam who was already moving to where she had parked the Mini.
‘You in this too?’ I asked as we folded ourselves into the tiny car.
‘Did Claude talk to you?’
‘You know he did. You threw him at me didn’t you? I’m asking you: are you in this too?’
She started the motor and began driving the little car fast back towards the airport.
‘You’d better talk to Bernie.’
‘That still doesn’t answer my question, and I want it answered.’
She shrugged.
‘Yes, I’m in it. Bernie will explain it to you.’
‘If he handles the rest of the operation the way he’s handled it so far, I wouldn’t touch it.’
She shot me a quick hard glance.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s so phoney. This phoney excuse to get me here, then throwing you at me, then you throwing that fat horror at me. Was this all Bernie’s idea?’
‘Well, you’re interested, aren’t you?’
‘The money interests me, but apart from the money, and it’ll take a lot of convincing before I’ll believe that kind of money, the operation, so far, stinks.’
‘You must talk to Bernie.’
‘You can say that again.’
We drove the rest of the way in silence and when she pulled up outside my cabin, she switched on her sexy smile.
‘Let’s spend the rest of the night together Jack.’ She began to get out of her car, but I stopped her.
‘No.’ I stared at her. ‘You’re Bernie’s girl... remember?’
She looked as if she were going to hit me. I just continued to stare at her until she looked away, then I slid out of the car and walked over to my cabin.
I was up and sipping coffee on the porch when Tim O’Brien came out of his cabin. The time was 06.45 and he looked at me, surprised.
‘You’re early.’
‘I thought I’d come down to the site,’ I said and finished my coffee. ‘If there’s some job you can give me that I can do. I’ll be glad.’
‘Know anything about blasting?’
‘Not a thing.’
He grinned.
‘Know anything about bulldozers?’
‘Sure.’
‘Fine... then you look after the bulldozers and I’ll look after the blasting.’ We got in the jeep. ‘So you’ve decided you want to work?’
‘When I get paid I give value. But get this straight, Tim you’re the boss. Tell me what you want done end I’ll try to do it.’
So I spent the day in the heat, the dust and the noise. Four times I was called on to repair a bulldozer and I did it. Engines were simple to me. I got along fine with the negro crew who worked well but hadn’t any idea how to cope with a stalled engine. I didn’t see anything of O’Brien until lunchtime. From the bangs, he was doing plenty of blasting. We had lunch together under a tree: hamburgers and coffee. He asked me how I liked the job and I said it was fine. He gave me a curious stare, but didn’t take it further.
Before going to sleep that night, I thought over what had happened. It looked to me that Olson was planning some kind of steal and he wanted me in on it, but wasn’t sure of me. This idea, and I told myself I could be quite wrong, startled me. I would never have thought that Olson could be bent. I decided that I had better work or someone might begin to wonder what I was doing here.
It was sound thinking because around 16.00 the following day while I was clearing a gas feed and was cursing, I saw the three negroes, who were standing around watching me, suddenly stiffen as if they had been goosed. Their big black eyes rolled, showing the whites and I looked over my shoulder.
There was a woman standing a few yards from me, surveying me. What a woman! I knew at once she couldn’t be anyone else but Mrs. Lane Essex. Starting from the top of her head and reading downwards, she had Venetian red hair that hung to her shoulders in long, natural waves: a broad forehead, big violet-coloured eyes, a thin nose, a firm mouth. Quite an inadequate description. She was the most gorgeous looking woman I had ever seen and she made Pam Osborn look like a cheap hooker. Her body was something a saint would have thoughts about: long, long legged, full breasted. She was wearing a white linen shirt tucked into white jodhpurs and knee high, glittering black boots. Some yards behind her, a negro in white held the bridles of two horses.
She flicked one of her boots with a riding whip and her violet eyes continued to survey me the way a cattle dealer will survey a prize bull he might or might not be going to buy.
I began to wipe the dirt and grease of my hands with a jump of oily waste, aware of the tensions of the three negroes who very carefully, very slowly, as if backing away from a puff adder, moved out of the scene. They kept on moving until they were lost in the dust.
‘Who are you?’ There was an arrogant snap in her voice that made me remember that Pam had described this woman as the blueprint for the biggest bitch in the world.
I decided to play this one humble.
‘Jack Crane, ma’am,’ I said. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’
This fazed her a little. I could see that by her frown and the way she shifted her elegant feet.
‘I don’t remember seeing you before.’
‘That’s right, ma’am.’ I kept my expression wooden. ‘I’ve just arrived. I’m working for Mr. O’Brien.’
‘Oh.’ She paused but continued to examine me. ‘Where’s O’Brien?’
Just then there was a hell of a bang and the two horses shied, nearly over-throwing the negro who began struggling with them. I could see he was in trouble and I slid past her and caught the reins of the biggest horse and by sheer brute strength brought him to a standstill. The negro had all he could do to handle the other horse.
‘No place for horses, ma’am,’ I said. ‘We’re blasting.’
She came to me, snatched the reins out of my hand and swung herself onto the saddle. The horse reared up, and she gave him a flick of her whip and brought him down to stand trembling but mastered.
The negro swung himself onto his horse.
‘Take him away, Sam,’ she said, ‘before another bang.’
The negro rode of fast, leaving her looking down at me.
‘You know something about horses?’ she asked.
‘No, ma’am. I don’t dig anything without brakes.’
She smiled.
‘You handled Borgia well enough. Thank you.’
Then the mother of all bangs went off it sounded as if a five hundred pound aerial bomb had exploded at our feet.
She was under the impression she had the horse under control so she was relaxed. The bang shook me and shook her. What it did to the horse was nobody’s business. It reared and snaked and she hadn’t a chance to stay on. She was thrown heavily as the horse took off.
There was nothing I could do in that split second she hung in the air, then I started forward, but was much too late. She landed on her shoulders and her head hit the tarmac and there she remained, still gorgeous to look at, but out to the world.
As I knelt beside her, a ring of gaping negroes formed. I didn’t know if she had broken her back and I was scared stupid to touch her
‘Get O’Brien!’ I bawled ‘Get me a jeep!’
The snap in my voice brought action. Four or five of them ran wildly down the tarmac towards the blasting site. Two others rushed into the dust.
Gently, I touched her and she opened her eyes.
‘Are you hurt?’
Her eyes closed.