Текст книги "The Dark of the Sun"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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arrow? Was anyone hit?"

"No, missed by a few inches. Here it is."

"That was a bit of luck." Bruce took the arrow from Andre and inspected

it quickly. A light reed, crudely fletched with green leaves and with

the iron head bound into it with a strip of rawhide. It

looked fragile and ineffectual, but the barbs of the head were smeared

thickly with a dark paste that had dried like toffee.

"Pleasant," murmured Bruce, and then he shuddered slightly. He could

imagine it embedded in his body with the poison purple-staining the

flesh beneath the skin. He had heard that it was not a comfortable

death, and the irontipped reed was suddenly malignant and repulsive.

He snapped it in half and threw it out over the side of the bridge

before he jumped down from the truck to supervise the building of the

guard post.

"Not enough sandbags, boss."

"Take the mattresses off all the

bunks, Ruffy." Bruce solved that quickly. The leather-covered coir

pallets would stop an arrow with ease.

Fifteen minutes later the post was completed, a shoulder-high ring of

sandbags and mattresses large enough to accommodate ten men and

their equipment, with embrasures sited to command both ends of the

bridge.

"We'll be back early tomorrow, Kanaki. Let none of your men leave this

post for any purpose; the gaps between the timbers are sufficient for

purposes of sanitation."

"We shall enjoy enviable comfort, Captain.

But we will lack that which soothes." Kanaki grinned meaningly at

Bruce.

"Ruffy, leave them a case of beer."

"A whole case?" Ruffy made no attempt to hide his shocked disapproval of

such a prodigal order.

"Is my credit not good?"

"You credit is okay, boss," and then he changed to French to make his

protest formal. "My concern is the replacement of such a valuable

commodity."

"You're wasting time, Ruffy!

from the bridge it was thirty miles to Port Reprieve.

They met the road(] again six miles outside the town; it crossed under

them and disappeared into the forest again to circle out round the high

ground taking the easier route into Port Reprieve. But the railroad

climbed up the hills in a series of traverses and came out at the top

six hundred feet above the town. On the stony slopes the forest found

meagre purchase and the vegetation was sparser; it did not obscure the

view.

Standing on the roof Bruce looked out across the Lufira swamps to the

north, a vastness of poisonous green swamp grass and open water,

disappearing into the blue heat haze without any sign of ending. From

its southern extremity it was drained by the Lufira river. The river was

half a mile wide, deep olive-green, ruffled darker by eddies of

wind across its surface, fenced into the very edge of the water by a

solid barrier of dense river bush. In the angle formed by the swamp and

the river was a headland which protected the natural harbour of

Port Reprieve. The town was on a spit of land, the harbour on one side

and a smaller swamp on the other. The road came round the right-hand

side of the hills, crossed a causeway over the swamp and entered the

single street of the town from the far side.

There were three large buildings in the centre of the town opposite the

railway yard, their iron roofs bright beacons in the sunlight; and

clustered round them were perhaps fifty smaller thatched dwellings.

Down on the edge of the harbour was a long shed, obviously a workshop,

and two jetties ran into the water.

The diamond dredgers were moored alongside; three of them, ungainly

black hulks with high superstructures and blunt ends.

It was a place of heat and fever and swamp smells, an ugly little

village by a green reptile river.

"Nice place to retire," Mike Haig grunted.

"Or open a health resort," said Bruce.

Beyond the causeway, on the main headland, there was another cluster of

buildings, just the tops were showing above the forest.

Among them rose the copper-clad spire of a church.

"Mission station," guessed Bruce.

"St. Augustine's," agreed Ruffy. "My first wife's little brudder got

himself educated there. He's an attache to the ministry of something or

other in Elisabethville now, doing damn good for himself."

Boasting a little.

"Bully for him," said Bruce.

The train had started angling down the hills towards the town.

"Well, I reckon we've made it, boss."

"I reckon also; all we have to do is get back again."

"Yes sir, I

reckon that's all." And they ran into the town.

There were more than forty people in the crowd that lined the platform

to welcome them.

We'll have a heavy load on the way home, thought Bruce as he ran his eye

over them. He saw the bright spots of women's dresses in the throng.

Bruce counted four of them. That's another complication; one day I hope

I find something in this life that turns out exactly as expected,

something that will run smoothly and evenly through to its right and

logical conclusion. Some hope, he decided, some bloody hope.

The joy and relief of the men and women on the platform was pathetically

apparent in their greetings. Most of the women were crying and the men

ran beside the train like small boys as it slid in along the raised

concrete platform.

All of them were of mixed blood, Bruce noted. They varied in colour from

creamy yellow to charcoal. The Belgians had certainly left

much to be remembered by.

Standing back from the throng, a little aloof from the general

jollification, was a half-blooded Belgian. There was an air of authority

about him that was unmistakable. On one side of him stood a large bosomy

woman of his own advanced age, darker skinned than he was; but Bruce saw

immediately that she was his wife. At his other hand stood a figure

dressed in a white open-necked shirt and blue jeans that

Bruce at first thought was a boy, until the head turned and he saw the

long plume of dark hair that hung down her back, and the unmanly double

pressure beneath the white shirt.

The train stopped and Bruce jumped down on to the platform and

laughingly pushed his way through the crowds towards the Belgian.

Despite a year in the Congo, Bruce had not grown accustomed to being

kissed by someone who had not shaved for two or three days and who

smelled strongly of garlic and cheap tobacco. This atrocity was

committed upon him a dozen times or more. before he arrived before the

Belgian.

"The Good Lord bless you for coming to our aid, Monsieur Captain."

The Belgian recognized the twin bars on the front of Bruce's helmet and

held out his hand. Bruce had expected another kiss, so he accepted the

handshake with relief.

"I am only glad that we are in time," he answered.

"May I introduce myself – Martin Boussier, district manager of

Union Miniere Corporation, and this is my wife, Madame Boussier." He was

a tall man, but unlike his wife, sparsely fleshed. His hair was

completely silver and his skin folded, toughened and browned by a life

under the equatorial sun. Bruce took an instant liking to him. Madame

Boussier pressed her bulk against Bruce and kissed him heartily. Her

mustache was too soft to cause him discomfort and she smelled of toilet

soap, which was a distinct improvement, decided Bruce.

"May I also present Madame Cartier," and for the first time Bruce looked

squarely at the girl. A number of things registered in his mind

simultaneously: the paleness of her skin which was not unhealthy but had

an opaque coolness which he wanted to touch, the size of her eyes which

seemed to fill half her face, the unconscious provocation of her lips,

and the use of the word Madame before her name.

"Captain Curry – of the Katanga Army," said Bruce. She's too young to be

married, can't be more than seventeen.

She's still got that little girl freshness about her and I bet she

smells like an unweaned puppy.

"Thank you for coming, monsieur." She had a throatiness in her voice as

though she were just about to laugh or to make love, and Bruce added

three years to his estimate of her age. That was not a little girl's

voice, nor were those little girl's legs in the jeans, and little girls

had less under their shirt fronts.

His eyes came back to her face and he saw that there was colour in her

cheeks now and sparks of annoyance in her eyes.

My God, he thought, I'm ogling her like a matelot on shore leave.

He hurriedly transferred his attention back to Boussier, but his throat

felt constricted as he asked: "How many are you?"

"There are forty-two of us, of which five are women and two are

children." Bruce nodded, it was what he had expected. The women could

ride in one of the covered

coaches. He turned and surveyed the railway yard.

"Is there a turntable on which we can revolve the locomotive?" he asked

Boussier.

"No, Captain." They would have to reverse all the way back to

Msapa Junction, another complication. It would be more difficult to keep

a watch on the tracks ahead, and it would mean a sooty and uncomfortable

journey.

"What precautions have you taken against attack, monsieur?"

"They are inadequate, Captain," Boussier admitted. "I have not

sufficient men to defend the town – most of the population left before

the emergency. Instead I have posted sentries on all the approaches and

I

have fortified the hotel to the best of my ability. It was there we

intended to stand in the event of attack." Bruce nodded again and

glanced up at the sun. It was already reddening as it dropped towards

the horizon, perhaps another hour or two of daylight.

"Monsieur, it is too late to entrain all your people and leave before

nightfall. I intend to load their possessions this evening. We will stay

overnight and leave in the early morning.) "We are all anxious to be

away from this place; we have twice seen large parties of

Baluba on the edge of the jungle."

"I understand," said Bruce. "But

the dangers of travelling by night exceed those of waiting another

twelve hours."

"The decision is yours," Boussier agreed. "What do you wish us to do

now?"

"Please see to the embarkation of your people. I

regret that only the most essential possessions may be entertained.

We wil be almost a hundred persons."

"I shall see to that myself," Boussier assured him, "and then?"

"Is that the hotel?" Bruce pointed across the street at one of the large

double-storeyed buildings. It was only two hundred yards from where they

stood.

"Yes, Captain." "Good," said Bruce. "It is close enough. Your people can

spend the night there in more comfort than aboard the train." He looked

at the girl again; she was watching him with a small smile on her face.

It was a smile of almost maternal amusement, as though she were watching

a little boy playing at soldiers. Now it was

Bruce's turn to feel annoyed. He was suddenly embarrassed by his uniform

and epaulettes, by the pistol at his hip, the automatic rifle across his

shoulder and the heavy helmet on his head.

"I will require someone who is familiar with the area to accompany me, I

want to inspect your defences," he said to Boussier.

"Madame Cartier could show you," suggested Boussier's wife artlessly. I

wonder if she noticed our little exchange, thought Bruce.

Of course she did. All women have a most sensitive nose for that sort of

thing.

"Will you go with the captain, Shermaine?" asked Madame Boussier.

"As the captain wishes." She was still smiling.

"That is settled then," said Bruce gruffly. "I will meet you at the

hotel in ten minutes, after I have made arrangements here." He

turned back to Boussier. "You may proceed with the embarkation,

monsieur." Bruce left them and went back to the train.

"Hendry," he shouted, "you and de Surrier will stay on board. We are not

leaving until the morning but these people are going to. load their

stuff now. In the meantime rig the searchlights to sweep both sides of

the track and make sure the Brens are properly sited." Hendry grunted an

acknowledgement without looking at Bruce.

"Mike, take ten men with you and go to the hotel. I want you there in

case of trouble during the night."

"Okay, Bruce."

"Ruffy."

"Take a gang and help the driver refuel."

"Okay, boss.

Hey, boss!"

"Yes." Bruce turned to him.

"When you go to the hotel, have a look-see maybe they got some beer up

there. We're just about fresh out."

"I'll keep it in mind."

"Thanks, boss." Ruffy looked relieved. "I'd hate like hell to die of

thirst in this hole." The townsfolk were streaming back towards the

hotel.

The girl Shermaine walked with the Boussiers, and Bruce heard

Hendry's voice above him.

"Jesus, look what that pretty has got in her pants. What ever it is, one

thing is sure: it's round and it's in two pieces, and those pieces move

like they don't belong to each other."

"You haven't any work to do Hendry?" Bruce asked harshly.

"What's wrong, Curry?" Hendry jeered down at him. "You got plans

yourself? Is that it, Bucko?" "She's married," said Bruce, and

immediately was surprised that he had said it.

"Sure," laughed Hendry. "All the best ones are married; that don't mean

a thing, not a bloody thing."

"Get on with your work," snapped Bruce, and then to Haig, "Are you

ready? Come with me then."

When they reached the hotel Boussier was waiting for them on the open

verandah. He led Bruce aside and spoke quietly.

"Monsieur, I don't wish to be an alarmist but I have received some most

disturbing news. There are brigands armed with modern weapons raiding

down from the north.

The last reports state that they had sacked Senwati Mission about

three hundred kilometres north of here."

"Yes," Bruce nodded, "I know about them. We heard on the radio."

"Then you will have realized that they can be expected to arrive here

very soon."

"I don't see them arriving before tomorrow afternoon; by then we should

be well on our way to Msapa Junction."

"I hope you are right, Monsieur. The atrocities committed by this

General Moses at Senwati are beyond the conception of any normal mind.

He appears to bear an almost pathological hatred for all people of

European descent." Boussier hesitated before going on. "There were a

dozen white nuns at Senwati.

I have heard that they-"

"Yes," Bruce interrupted him quickly; he did not want to listen to it.

"I can imagine. Try and prevent these stories circulating amongst your

people. I don't want to have them panic."

"Of course," Boussier nodded.

"Do you know what force this General Moses commands?" "It is not more

than a hundred men but, as I have said, they are all armed with modern

weapons. I have even heard that they have with them a cannon of some

description, though I think this unlikely. They are travelling in a

convoy of stolen vehicles and at Senwati they captured a gasoline tanker

belonging to the commercial oil c omparues.

"I see," mused Bruce. "But it doesn't alter my decision to remain here

overnight. However, we must leave at first light tomorrow."

"As you wish, Captain."

"Now, monsieur," Bruce changed the subject, "I

require some form of transport. Is that car in running order?" He

pointed at a pale green Ford Ranchero station wagon parked beside the

verandah wall.

"It is. It belongs to my company." Boussier took a key ring from his

pocket and handed it to Bruce. "Here are the keys.

The tank is full of gasoline." "Good," said Bruce. "Now if we can find

Madame Cartier. " She was waiting in the hotel lounge and she stood up

as Bruce and Boussier came in.

"Are you ready, madame?"

"I await your pleasure," she answered, and Bruce looked at her sharply.

just a trace of a twinkle in her dark blue eyes suggested that she was

aware of the double meaning. They walked out to the Ford and Bruce

opened the door for her.

"You are gracious, monsieur." She thanked him and slid It into the seat.

Bruce went round to the driver's side and climbed in beside her.

"It's nearly dark," he said.

"Turn right on to the Msapa junction road, there is one post there."

Bruce drove out along the dirt road through the town until they came to

the last house before the causeway.

"Here," said the girl and Bruce stopped the car. There were two men

there, both armed with sporting rifles. Bruce spoke to them. They had

seen no sign of Baluba, but they were both very nervous. Bruce made a

decision.

"I want you to go back to the hotel. The Baluba will have seen the train

arrive; they won't attack in force, we'll be safe tonight.

But they may try and cut a few throats if we leave you out here." The

two half-breeds gathered together their belongings and set off towards

the centre of town, obviously with lighter hearts.

"Where are the others?" Bruce asked the girl.

"The next post is at the pumping station down by the river, there are

three men there." Bruce followed her directions. Once or twice as

he drove he glanced surreptitiously at her. She sat in her corner of the

seat with her legs drawn up sideways under her. She sat very still,

Bruce noticed. I like a woman who doesn't fidget; it's soothing. Then

she smiled; this one isn't soothing. She is as disturbing as hell!

She turned suddenly and caught him looking again, but this time she

smiled.

"You are English, aren't you, Captain?"

"No, I am a Rhodesian," Bruce answered.

"It's the same," said the girl. "You speak French so very badly that you

had to be English." Bruce laughed. "Perhaps your English is better than

my French," he challenged her.

"it couldn't be much worse," she answered him in his own language.

"You are different when you laugh, not so grim, not so heroic. Take the

next road to your right." Bruce turned the Ford down towards the

harbour.

"You are very frank," he said. "Also your English is excellent."

"Do you smoke?" she asked, and when he nodded she lit two cigarettes and

passed one to him.

"You are also very young to smoke, and very young to be married."

She stopped smiling and swung her legs off the seat.

"Here is the pumping station," she said.

"I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's of no importance."

"It was an impertinence," Bruce demurred.

"It doesn't matter." Bruce stopped the car and opened his door.

He walked out on to the wooden jetty towards the pump house, and the

boards rang dully under his boots. There was a mist coming up out of the

reeds round the harbour and the frogs were piping in fifty different

keys. He spoke to the men in the single room of the pump station.

"You can get back to the hotel by dark if you hurry."

"Oui, monsieur," they agreed. Bruce watched them set off up the road

before they went to the car. He spun the starter motor and above the

noise of it the girl asked: "What is your given name, Captain Curry?"

"Bruce."

She repeated it, pronouncing it'Bruise', and then asked: "Why are you a

soldier?"

"For many reasons." His tone was flippant.

"You do not look like a soldier, for all your badges and your

guns, for all the grimness and the frequent giving of orders."

"Perhaps

I am not a very good soldier." He smiled at her.

"You are very efficient and very grim except when you laugh. But

I am glad you do not look like one," she said.

"Where is the next post?"

"On the railway line. There are two men there. Turn to your right again

at the top, Bruce."

"You are also very efficient, Shermaine." They were silent having used

each other's names.

Bruce could feel it again, between them, a good feeling, warm like new

bread. But what of her husband, he thought, I wonder where he is, and

what he is like. Why isn't he here with her?

"He is dead," she said quietly. "He died four months ago of malaria."

With the shock of it, Shermaine answering his unspoken question and also

the answer itself, Bruce could say nothing for the moment, then: "I'm

sorry."

"There is the post," she said, "in the cottage with the thatched roof."

Bruce stopped the car and switched off the engine. In the silence she

spoke again.

"He was a good man, so very gentle. I only knew him for a few months but

he was a good man." She looked very small sitting beside him in the

gathering dark with the sadness on her, and Bruce felt a great wave of

tenderness wash over him. He wanted to put his arm round her

and hold her, to shield her from the sadness. He searched for the words,

but before he found them, she roused herself and spoke in a

matter-of-fact tone.

"We must hurry, it's dark already." At the hotel the lounge was filled

with Boussier's employees; Haig had mounted a Bren in one of the

upstairs windows to cover the main street and posted two men in the

kitchens to cover the back. The civilians were in little groups, talking

quietly, and their expressions of complete doglike trust as

they looked at Bruce disconcerted him.

"Everything under control, Mike?" he asked brusquely.

"Yes, Bruce. We should be able to hold this building against a sneak

attack. De Surrier and Hendry, down at the station yard, shouldn't have

any trouble either."

"Have these people," Bruce pointed at the civilians, "loaded their

luggage?"

"Yes, it's all aboard. I

have told Ruffy to issue them with food from our stores."

"Good." Bruce felt relief-, no further complications so far.

"Where is old man Boussier?"

"He is across at his office."

"I'm going to have a chat with him." Unbidden, Shermaine fell in beside

Bruce as he walked out into the street, but he liked having her there.

Boussier looked up as Bruce and Shermaine walked into his office.

The merciless glare of the petromax lamp accentuated the lines at the

corners of his eyes and mouth, and showed up the streaks of pink scalp

beneath his neatly combed hair.

"Martin, you are not still working!" exclaimed Shermaine, and he smiled

at her, the calm smile of his years.

"Not really, my dear, just tidying up a few things. Please be seated,

Captain." He came round and cleared a pile of heavy leather-bound

ledgers off the chair and packed them into a wooden case on the floor,

went back to his own chair, opened a drawer in the desk, brought out a

box of cheroots and offered one to Bruce.

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you are here, Captain.

These last few months have been very trying. The doubt. The anxiety."

He struck a match and held it out to Bruce who leaned forward across the

desk and lit his cheroot. "But now it is all at an end; I feel as though

a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders." Then his voice

sharpened. "But you were not too soon. I have heard within the

last hour that this General Moses and his column have left Senwati and

are on the road south, only two hundred kilometres north of here. They

will arrive tomorrow at their present rate of advance." "Where did you

hear this?" Bruce demanded.

"From one of my men, and do not ask me how he knows.

There is a system of communication in this country which even after all

these years I do not understand. Perhaps it is the drums, I

heard them this evening, I do not know.

However, their information is usually reliable."

"I had not placed them so close," muttered Bruce. "Had I known this I

might have risked

travelling tonight, at least as far as the bridge."

"I think your decision to stay over the night was correct.

General Moses will not travel during darkness – none of his men would

risk that – and the condition of the road from Senwqti after

three months neglect is such that he will need ten or twelve hours to

cover the distance."

" I hope you're right." Bruce was worried. "I'm not sure that we

shouldn't pull out now."

"That involves a risk also, Captain," Boussier pointed out.

"We know there are tribesmen in close proximity to the town. They have

been seen. They must be aware of your arrival, and might easily have

wrecked the lines to prevent our departure. I think your original

decision is still good."

"I know." Bruce was hunched forward in his chair, frowning, sucking on

the cheroot. At last he sat back and the frown evaporated. "I can't risk

it. I'll place a guard on the causeway, and if this Moses gentleman

arrives we can hold him there long enough to embark your people."

"That is probably the best course," agreed Boussier. He paused, glanced

towards the open windows and

lowered his voice. "There is another point, Captain, which I wish to

bring to your attention."

"Yes?"

"As you know, the activity of my company in Port Reprieve is centred on

the recovery of diamonds from the Lufira swamps." Bruce nodded.

"I have in my safe" – Boussier jerked his thumb at the heavy steel door

built into the wall behind his desk – "nine and a half thousand carats

of gem-quality diamonds and some twenty-six thousand carats of

industrial diamonds."

"I had expected that." Bruce kept his tone non-committal.

It may be as well if we could agree on the disposition and handling of

these stones." "How are they packaged?" asked Bruce.

"A single wooden case."

"Of what size and weight?"

"I will show

you." Boussier went to the safe, turned his back to them and they heard

the tumblers whirr and click. While he waited Bruce realized suddenly

that Shermaine had not spoken since her initial greeting to Boussier.

He glanced at her now and she smiled at him. I like a woman who knows

when to keep her mouth shut.

Boussier swung the door of the safe open and carried a small wooden case

across to the desk.

"There," he said.

Bruce examined it. Eighteen inches long, nine deep and twelve

wide. He lifted it experimentally.

"About twenty pounds weight," he decided. "The lid is sealed."

"Yes," agreed Boussier, touching the four wax imprints.

"Good," Bruce nodded. "I don't want to draw unnecessary attention to it

by placing a guard upon it."

"No, I agree." Bruce studied the case a few seconds longer and then he

asked: "What is the value of these stones?" Boussier shrugged. "Possibly

five hundred million francs." And Bruce was impressed; half a million

sterling. Worth

stealing, worth killing for.

"I suggest, monsieur, that you secrete this case in your luggage.

In your blankets, say. I doubt there will be any danger of theft until

we reach Msapa Junction. A thief will have no avenue of escape. Once we

reach Msapa junction I will make other arrangements for its safety."

"Very well, Captain." Bruce stood up and glanced at his watch. "Seven

o'clock, as near as dammit. I will leave you and see to the guard on the

causeway. Please make sure that your people are ready to entrain before

dawn tomorrow morning."

"Of course." Bruce looked at Shermaine and she stood up quickly.

Bruce held the door open for her and was just about to follow her when a

thought struck him.

"That mission station – St. Augustine's, is it? I suppose it's deserted

now?"

"No, it's not." Boussier looked a little shamefaced.

"Father Ignatius is still there, and of course the patients at the

hospital."

"Thanks for telling me." Bruce was bitter.

"I'm sorry, Captain. It slipped my mind, there are so many things to

think of."

"Do you know the road out to the mission?" he snapped at

Shermaine. She should have told him.

"Yes, Bruce."

"Well, perhaps you'd be good enough to direct me."

"Of course." She also looked guilty.

Bruce slammed the door of Boussier's office and strode off towards the

hotel with Shermaine trotting to keep pace with him. You can't rely on

anyone, he thought, not anybody!

And then he saw Ruffy coming up from the station, looking like a big

bear in the dusk. With a few exceptions, Bruce corrected himself

"Sergeant Major."

"Hello, boss."

"This General Moses is closer to us than we reckoned.

He's reported two hundred kilometres north of here on the Senwati road."

Ruffy whistled through his teeth. "Are you going to take off now, Boss?"

"No, I want a machine-gun post on this end of the causeway.

If they come we can hold them there long enough to get away. I want you

to take command."

"I'll see to it now."

"I'm going out to the mission – there's a white priest there. Lieutenant

Haig is in command while I'm away."

"Okay, boss."

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I should have told you." Shermaine sat small and

repentant at her end of the Ranchero.

"Don't worry about it," said Bruce, not meaning it.

"We have tried to make Father Ignatius come in to town.

Martin has spoken to him many times, but he refuses to move."

Bruce did not answer. He took the car down on to the causeway, driving

carefully. There were shreds of mist lifting out of the swamp and

drifting across the concrete ramp.

Small insects, bright as tracer in the headlights, zoomed in to squash

against the windscreen. The froggy chorus from the swamp honked

and clinked and boomed deafeningly.

"I have apologized," she murmured.

"Yes, I heard you," said Bruce. "You don't have to do it again."

She was silent, and then: "Are you always so bad-tempered?" she asked in

English.

"Always," snapped Bruce, "is one of the words which should be eliminated

from the language."

"Since it has not been, I will continue to use it. You haven't answered

my question: are you always so bad-tempered?"

"I just don't like balls-ups."

"What is balls-up, please?"

"What has just happened: a mistake, a situation precipitated by

inefficiency, or by somebody not using his head."

"You never make balls-up, Bruce?"

"It is not a polite expression, Shermaine. Young ladies of your

refinement do not use it." Bruce changed into French.

"You never make mistakes?" she corrected herself Bruce did not answer.

That's quite funny, he thought – never make mistakes! Bruce

Curry, the original balls-up.

Shermaine held one hand across her middle and sat up straight.

"Bonaparte," she said. "Cold, silent, efficient."

"I didn't say that-" Bruce started to defend himself.

Then in the glow from the dash light he saw her impish expression and he

could not stop himself; he had to grin.

"All right, I'm acting like a child." "You would like a cigarette?" she

asked.

"Yes, please." She lit it and passed it to him.

"You do not like-" she hesitated, "mistakes. Is there anything you do

like?"

"Many things," said Bruce.

"Tell me some." They bumped off the end of the causeway and Bruce

accelerated up the far bank.

"I like being on a mountain when the wind blows, and the taste of the

sea. I like Sinatra, crayfish thertnidor, the weight and balance of a

Purdey Royal, and the sound of a little girl's laughter. I like the

first draw of a cigarette lit from a wood fire, the scent of jasmine,

the feel of silk; I also enjoy sleeping late in the morning, and the