Miss Turquoise by George B Mair

Author:George B Mair [Mair, George B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-09-05T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven – ‘So smooth and so warm’

Grant knew his own weaknesses better even than the psychiatrists who had vetted him before his final appointment to ADSAD.

Essentially a man of action he was also dedicated to Justice, and a philosopher fascinated by the age-old conflict between Good and Evil. But once convinced of the essential wisdom and purpose behind a mission he was capable of being utterly ruthless when success depended on no half-measures.

He had developed a blind spot which protected him from regret and had rarely known a qualm of conscience after even the more brutal experiences of his career. He revelled in taking on a man of his own weight and could honestly say that he had never been afraid once the shooting had begun.

At his best he could rise to an occasion better than most men, and in spite of the fact that he despised ‘going into training’ his stamina was outstanding.

On the other hand he turned naturally towards good food and wine, to quality clothes and hand-made shoes, to period furniture and collector’s pieces as naturally as he did to service life or lone-wolfing it in dangerous places. But none of that affected his machine-like efficiency, or his instinct for making the right decision at the right time. Not even his almost primitive interest in beautiful women had ever seriously twisted his obsession with duty as he saw it.

But more than anything in the world he loathed inactivity, especially aboard small ships, where a claustrophobic hatred for confinement could make him almost go berserk with monotony. And he had long ago learned that once this manic-depression developed, only some burst of excitement or the thrill of a new experience could snap him back to normality.

Already Viera y Clavijo had got him down, and he was in no mood for hysterical women when Miss Turquoise arrived at his cabin. The girl was trembling, her hair tumbling over her eyes. Her arms were folded over her breasts, and although she was still fully dressed the pale green of her clothes reminded him of death, reflections of light played on her neck and a splash of redness seemed to shimmer against her throat. The throb of ship’s engines was quivering her flesh, and in the half-light beside the door shadows played around her features to cast her face into the ugliness of a mask.

‘What has happened to us?’ she whispered. ‘You changed when I told you about the fortune-teller. You believed me! Your eyes showed that you knew our destiny lay together.’

Grant forced himself to be reasonable. ‘Look. We are both tired. This will all have been forgotten by tomorrow.’

She shook her head and closed the door behind her, leaning against the brown woodwork and staring as though seeing him for the first time. ‘I have met men like you before. Not often, but once or twice. They had the same rock-hard jaw with cold eyes like dawn on the desert. And, like you, their eyes could suddenly warm and make women want to die for them.

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