Richard was seated behind her in the captain’s chair and, inevitably, now, he found himself watching her; what was it they said? devouring her with his eyes. She had her back to him, gazing out over Salah Malik’s shoulder as the Palestinian held the helm. He could see the merest ghost of her reflection in the window, just enough to guess at its expression: that tiny frown of concentration she habitually wore when wrestling with a problem. Her shoulders were squared, her hands clasped behind her. He watched the unconscious play of her long muscles as she rode the movements of the deck.
How well he knew every inch of that supple back. Dreamily, he watched the shoulders move microscopically, hips readjust, buttocks and thighs tense and relax.
He wondered what she was wearing under the starched, razor-creased, tropical kit. Probably the practical, almost unfeminine combination he had first seen while helping her back up the side after the wreck of the felucca. Certainly not the breathtaking confections she had favored in Durban.
In spite of all he had said about observing the proprieties once they got back aboard, he was still hungry for her.
The South Africans have a strained relationship with the huge ships that pass and repass their shores on the Cape run. Forbidden by OPEC embargo from obtaining the oil in their holds, they tend to see instead only the filth they leave behind. Sludge from illegally or carelessly cleaned tanks. Tar from oil dumped overboard by overladen ships in foul weather; slicks seeping from wrecks. It is oil in the only state they do not want it, for it decimates their fiercely protected coastal wildlife and puts at risk some of the most magnificent beaches in the world.
Richard expected the authorities in Durban to be less than polite, therefore. But this could not have been further from the case. They treated the whole crew, but himself, Robin, and the chief in particular, with something between kindness and awe. It robbed him of any real moral force when he came into conflict with them.
He dealt with — was dealt with by — a big, bluff, cheerful man called Jan van der Groot. Such men exist in any organization and are universally successful. Certainly Richard tried every tactic he could think of to enforce his will over the South African’s and got nowhere. But he was playing from a position of absolute weakness. And van der Groot—“call me Jan, man!”—concealed beneath his bearlike bonhomie a steely resolve which, given the circumstances, could not be overcome. And the area of their disagreement was so small, Richard was soon made to feel positively petty.
Though when he talked it over with Robin he found she had run into the same wall for much the same reason, and van der Groot’s charm had impressed her not at all.
As soon as they arrived in Durban, Prometheus was put into a specially prepared quarantine dock and everyone aboard was removed to the Addington Hospital overlooking the harbor for observation. Tests soon established virulent but relatively simple food poisoning; the suspect foodstuffs were destroyed and replaced. A thorough search of the ship at last revealed the final resting place of Hajji Hassan’s bloated corpse. It was removed, and a postmortem held as soon as the relevant officers and crew were well enough to attend. A verdict of accidental death was returned.
As a gesture of respect for the strength of the officers above deck and below, especially that of the chief, the third mate, and the legendary captain, all of whom had remained at their posts, and technically in charge in spite of the distress signal, salvage claims were waived. A local harbor watch was put aboard, awaiting the return of the crew.
In the Addington — and afterward — things were not quite so simple. The deckhands and stewards had a ward each; the officers had rooms. Everything possible was done for their comfort. The doctors and nurses were kindness itself. Patients responded, for the most part rapidly. Put in his room at dawn on the 7th, Richard was well enough to receive van der Groot on the evening of the 9th and to check himself out on the 10th.
As soon as he was well enough to walk, he went around the others. First he checked on Robin, and he found her in better shape than he was himself, fuming from her first interview with van der Groot. Martyr, too, was on the mend, but some of the others were still in a bad way. Ben was in a coma — not dangerous, apparently, but not too healthy — being fed by a glucose drip. No one was allowed to disturb him. Rice, Napier, and John Higgins were almost as bad. A visit to the crew’s quarters, accompanied this time by the restless Robin, revealed almost the same story. Some were nearly well again; some were still quite ill.
“About half our complement are well enough to go back aboard, Mr. van der Groot,” said Richard firmly on the 9th.
“Call me Jan, man,” boomed van der Groot in answer, with a broad grin.
“Quite. I’d like to get them back aboard as soon as possible, ah…Jan.”
“Impossible, I’m afraid.” The South African lost none of his charm. “We had to put together a slightly unusual package under the circumstances. Immigration were not too happy about letting you all in, my people not too happy about leaving your kaffirs out in the harbor to die. We came to an agreement, therefore. They agreed to let you all in together: we agreed to see you all out together.”
“And that means, precisely?”
“What it says. Like any good crew, it’ll be ‘one for all and all for one.’” He saw Richard’s growing impatience and leaned forward to explain in detail. “As the crew get better, we take them out of hospital and put them in the Seaman’s Mission down by the docks. As the officers get better, they check out of the Addington and into the Edward Hotel. We have rooms reserved. When the last man is one-hundred-percent fit, we bundle up the whole lot of you and put you back aboard. All at once. Together. Not one at a time. Not in dribs and drabs. All at once. It’s what we agreed. It’s the way it has to be.”
“And in the meantime?”
“You get better. You check into the Edward. You have a couple of days’ holiday.”
And that was that, bar the arguing. Except for the distant formalities of Hajji’s inquest, which seemed to be looking into the death of someone utterly unattached to their current, fairy-tale existence. The practicalities were taken care of without Richard being involved — for all that he tried to be, in every stage of everything that affected the welfare of his crew. The owner, without contacting his captain except via telex, arranged such payment as was necessary; provided funds at the Standard Bank of South Africa for all officers and crew; even for the third mate, though she had in dependent funding of her own.
So, as each officer improved, he moved in Robin’s footsteps down the road to the Edward Hotel on Marine Drive, and into a suite in one of the great hotels. There were no complaints, of course, but Robin, Martyr, and Richard all looked at their surroundings with a great deal of suspicion. During the day, the three of them were together quite a lot; visiting the sick and convalescent, attending the inquest, doing a little sightseeing, wandering, apparently aimlessly, round the docks.
In the evening, however, they split up. Martyr was a lonely man who preferred his own company, spending most of his evenings writing long letters that never seemed to be answered — as, indeed, he did aboard ship. As the younger officers came out of hospital so they entered into the swing of Durban nightlife, visiting the nightclubs, especially those with the most daring cabarets. Richard and Robin would have been thrown together by circumstances in any case, even had the chemistry not been so potently at work.
Richard arrived at the Edward on the evening of the 10th, a mere twelve hours after Robin had done so. They moved, with the rest of the crew, back aboard Prometheus at 18.00 local time on the 14th. The hours in between were like a honeymoon for the two of them.