Operation Nassau by Dorothy Dunnett

Author:Dorothy Dunnett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Operation Nassau
ISBN: 9780755131563
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2012-05-16T16:00:00+00:00

TEN

We set off for Crab Cay next morning, Wallace Brady and I, in Dolly’s white 50 m.p.h. Avenger launch, Johnson at the wheel. Brady, neatly and rather formally dressed, was not in a talkative mood; and neither was I. I noted that the approach road and first span of Brady’s bridge were already in position not far from where we embarked. The outline of Crab Island was quite visible from the shore of the larger island, and we followed the line of the new bridge all the way, tying up where the piles at the Crab Island end already stood in the water. There was a small jetty, without a great deal of weather protection, off which Dolly rested at anchor.

We climbed out of the speedboat on to the jetty, and into a green Daimler convertible, which was waiting there empty. Johnson again took the wheel. ‘Green is the Akbar colour,’ he said. ‘And philanthropy their habit. You should see the Akbar elephants campaigning for Family Planning. There’s been a population explosion of tigers, because the elephants are all pooped with handing out condoms.’

The jetty ended. A uniformed man at the entrance to a low modern bungalow unlocked a pair of wrought-iron gates and saluted, and the Daimler swept on to a broad metalled road edged with Japanese fuchsias, royal palms and oleander bushes. We passed a man in two shades of green, spraying them. A large scarlet butterfly trembled past.

Brady said, ‘That’s a -’ and Johnson lifted one hand from the steering-wheel and waved with it. ‘It is. They buy them in and release them. Same with birds. Ever seen a doctor bird, doctor bird?’

‘Frequently,’ I said.

‘They’re a damned nuisance, aren’t they?’ said Johnson. ‘Whoa.’

The Daimler came to an expert short halt. Overhead were tall pines, their spaced and interleaved branches like fruit espaliers,. each feathered in dark silky green hair. In front of us, crossing the road with their salmon necks looping, was a small flock of flamingoes. They stepped with great deliberation, their elbows like pink coral beads on pink needles. Their feathered bodies could be worn with an eye-veil at weddings. One came close and gazed pupil to pupil with Johnson, its yellow whorled eyes glistening over its thick black-tipped beak.

‘Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. Virgil,’ said Johnson.

‘The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God’s heart in a garden, Than anywhere else on earth. Dorothy F. Bloomfield,’ said Wallace Brady, surprisingly.

I’d been to the Ardastra Gardens too. ‘These flamingoes are the unique gems of the tropical bird world,’ I said helpfully. ‘Miniskirts and midriffs are not allowed. Lack of modesty breeds contempt.’

Johnson took the bird by the beak and turned its head firmly away. ‘That wasn’t contempt. That was just one of the dirty old men of the tropical bird world,’ he said. ‘I could see its Polaroid camera.’

It was, I suppose, a short dress. Wallace Brady gave me a hesitant smile. I hadn’t the strength of mind not to smile back.

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