Ivory (58 page)

‘Why are men rubbish at tying bow ties?' She peeked over his shoulder, looking in the mirror of their suite as she tied it. ‘There, now you look more like a hotel owner and less like a cutthroat.'

‘Half-owner of a hotel,' he corrected her.

‘Half is better than nothing,' she reminded him. She kissed his cheek, then wiped the lipstick away with her thumb.

Two floors and forty-eight rooms of the hotel were finished – enough to declare it open. Alex poured them each a second glass of vintage French champagne.

‘Hey, go easy on that,' Jane said. ‘You've got a speech to make.'

‘Dutch courage,' he said, ‘and every pirate needs his grog.'

She frowned and he mouthed ‘Sorry'. He got down on one knee and reached into the pocket of his tuxedo.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' She put a hand over her mouth as the realisation dawned on her.

‘Jane . . .'

‘No!'

‘What?'

‘I mean, yes, if this is what I think it is.'

‘I've lost a cufflink and I was just getting down here to look for it.'

She punched him on the shoulder and got down on her knees so she was eye to eye with him.

‘So, will you?' he asked.

‘Help you find your cufflink?'

‘No, you know what I mean.'

‘Yes, and I will.'

 

Lesley Engels, the American widow Alex had met on the
Pride of Africa
en route to Cape Town, was waiting for them downstairs. The diamonds around her neck glittered with reflected candlelight. A string quartet
played in the background and the hundred and fifty guests parted as Alex and Jane walked arm in arm along a red carpet.

‘Those two look like they've stepped off a bloody wedding cake,' Kevin joked to Kobus as Alex and Jane passed them.

All of Alex's men were there. Kufa, looking dapper in a white suit and black tie, chatted to a German travel journalist who laughed at something he said. Henri, now fully recovered from his injuries, was staring into the eyes of a South African Airways flight attendant whose dinner suit couldn't hide a body builder's physique. Heinrich drank beer instead of champagne and was discussing the merits of the AK-47 over the G3 with an American travel agent from Dallas. Mark and Lisa Novak danced slowly in front of the quartet, paying attention only to each other.

Alex made his way to Lesley and kissed her on the cheek. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and the first, that he could remember, from whom he had ever turned down an offer of sex. He'd thought that he would never hear from her again, though she had seemed to understand why he declined her offer when he told her he was in love with another woman. It was the first time he'd realised how he truly felt about Jane.

In the days after the sinking of the
Penfold Son
, his initial elation at having survived had worn off when he realised they were all broke and living on an island with little food and no source of income. He, Jane and the others had worked the bars and backpacker joints of Vilanculos, trying to drum up business for fishing and diving trips, but they were competing with other, better established operators. The future looked grim, until one day when Alex checked his emails on the computer at Smugglers and saw the message from Lesley in the US.

The music ended and when the crowd eventually hushed itself Lesley began her speech.

‘When I came to Africa, on my last trip, I knew I wanted to invest some of my late husband's money in a hotel property, preferably on a beach, but I had no idea where to start looking. I didn't even know where Mozambique was.' She paused until the polite laughter subsided.
‘And then, on a train, in the middle of the Karoo Desert, I met this gorgeous fellow, Alex Tremain.'

‘If she lays a finger on you, I'll shoot her,' Jane whispered in his ear.

Lesley held up her hands to drown out the wolf whistles from the men. ‘Alex told me about this beautiful hotel on this beautiful island in this beautiful country that I knew nothing about. When I looked into his eyes I saw that this was no conman trying to fleece me; this was a man who truly believed that he had paradise within his reach, but there was something keeping it from him, just beyond his grasp. I wanted to help him catch that dream and make it a reality.'

Alex looked at Jane and put his arm around her and squeezed her tight. She smiled at him. Whatever happened from here on with the hotel didn't matter. He knew now that happiness wasn't tied up in concrete and fine china, or in the sands of an island or the memories of a long-gone colonial era. He'd betrayed his honour and himself to fast-track his dream, but with Jane by his side he felt more complete than he had in a long time. With Lesley's money and a great deal of hard work, he might just have the life he wanted, but he'd never steal or put the lives of those he loved at risk again.

‘Anyway,' Lesley continued, ‘I say to this stranger on a train, Alex Tremain, “So what do you do for money, to finance your grand plans to reopen your hotel?” He kind of sighs, looks all world-weary, and says, “I'm a pirate”.'

The crowd laughed, egged on by Alex's men, who were slapping each other, cheering and spilling drinks on each other and some of the perplexed-looking guests.

‘And I ask you, what girl can resist a pirate?'

T
his is a work of fiction – it is not a manual on how to hijack a car carrier or a container ship. For this reason, I have deliberately omitted or altered some security procedures that would take place on a merchant ship in the event of an attack by pirates.

Researching this book was no easy task, as maritime security has increased considerably in these terror-prone times we live in. It was only with considerable amounts of goodwill on the part of a number people that I was even able to set foot on a merchant ship.

Thanks to my very good friend Elizabeth Berrill, Group Media Manager, Wallem Group, and Simon Doughty, Managing Director of Wallem Shipping, Hong Kong, I was able to gain access to the Pure Car and Truck Carrier, the MV
Hoegh Africa
, when she was in port in Sydney unloading a consignment of Hummer H3s from South Africa.

Paul Nicolson and Hussein Chahine from Seaway shepherded me through security and on to the ship, and once on board I could not have asked for a more helpful, knowledgeable and patient host than the master of the ship himself, Captain Ivan Gospodinov.

Captain Gospodinov not only walked me over (virtually) every inch of his massive ship, but also read and corrected sections of the
draft manuscript. To him, his crew and the good people at Wallem and Seaway, I say thank you.

On dry land (in fact, it was in Maun, in the middle of land-locked Botswana, about as dry as Africa gets), I was fortunate enough to meet another master mariner, Captain Stuart McAllister FNI. Stuart is a serving shipmaster with the Maersk shipping company of London, and part-time consultant on all matters maritime. When he found out I was writing a book about shipping and pirates, he bravely agreed to read the whole manuscript for me. Stuart made numerous corrections and even found time to comment on some of the ‘romantic' scenes in the book. For his help with the shipping stuff (and the other stuff), I really can't thank him enough.

Closer to home in Australia, Mike Davis and Ian McLachlan were able to organise a berth for me on the MV
Island Trader
, which plies the often lumpy seas between the north coast of New South Wales and Lord Howe Island. I'd never been to sea and wanted to at least get some feel of what it was like.

On board, Captain Peter, First Mate Andy and the rest of the crew, Brett, Wayne and Peter, all resisted the urge to pull their hair out and toss me overboard, and answered my ceaseless questions. Thanks to all of you (and to my good friend and fellow Pan Macmillan author, Peter Watt, who took me shopping prior to the trip for wet weather gear and seasick pills – neither of which I needed).

In my mind's eye, when I started to write the scene in which the MV
Oslo Star
is boarded, I was picturing a device that fired a grappling hook and rope high into the sky. A quick internet search led me to Matt Scott, from Vertical Innovations, Mona Vale, distributors of the Assault Line Max line launcher. Thanks, Matt, for your time. I only wish I could have fired one!

Georgia Gowing put me in touch with a former South African military helicopter pilot who, at the time I contacted him, was flying aid missions for the UN in Sudan. He helped me with many questions about Oryx and Rooivalk helicopters, but asked not to be named. Thanks to you both.

My heartfelt thanks go to Petty Officer Bruce ‘Steeleman' Steele of the South African Navy who gave me a comprehensive tour of one the navy's new frigates, the SAS
Amatola
, in Simon's Town Harbour near Cape Town. The SAS
Talana
featured in this book is fictional, but bears a close resemblance to the
Amatola
. Thank you, Sybil, for finding me Bruce.

I've made many friends through my books and was particularly fortunate that one of them, Jess, has a father who is an officer in the Royal Australian Navy. Captain Tony Aldred, CSC, RANR, checked and corrected my scenes on the bridge of the SAS
Talana
and I'm extremely grateful to him and his Land Rover-owning daughter.

The whole concept of elephant culling remains as controversial as ever as this book goes to print. I choose to remain firmly on the fence when it comes to culling, but I hope I've been able to fairly represent the basic arguments for and against.

In the Kruger National Park, Michele Hofmeyr was kind enough to share with me her experiences in Mozambique's Gorongosa National Park, for which I thank her.

My thanks, too, go to Doctor Ian Whyte for information on elephants and elephant migrations between Mozambique and South Africa. At the time of his retirement from the South African National Parks Service, Ian was the Kruger National Park's number one authority on elephants.

My friend Heidi Mueller, in South Africa, put me in touch with Audrey Delsink, an elephant researcher at Makalali Private Game Reserve who briefed me on ongoing trials of contraceptives for elephants, and also read the manuscript. In an amazing coincidence, Audrey's parents lived on an island off the coast of Mozambique, but fled in 1975 when Audrey's mother was pregnant with her. Truth, I find, is always more interesting than fiction. Thank you, Heidi and Audrey, for all your help.

As you may have gathered, lots of people gave me lots of help with this book, but any mistakes or stretches of credibility that remain are wholly and solely down to me in every case.

Between them, Mark and Lisa Novak, Petrice Judge, Kim Hoddy and
young Jac le Roux donated a very significant amount of money to two charities – the SAVE Foundation, which concentrates on conserving rhinos in southern Africa, and Painted Dog Conservation Inc, which supports the endangered African Painted Dog – in order to have their names used in this book. I thank these generous people and I hope you all enjoyed your fictional alter-egos.

Thanks too to David Patrick, the marketing manager for Rovos Rail, and chief executive Rohan Voss for allowing Nicola and me on to your wonderful train, the
Pride of Africa
. The trip from Pretoria to Cape Town is truly an experience of a lifetime. Likewise, thank you to the kind and courteous staff at the D'oreale Grande Hotel, near O.R. Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg.

Forgive me, but the acknowledgements in my books get longer and longer each year as I make more and more friends in Africa. Thank you, once again, to Dennis and Liz and Don and Vicki who keep Nicola and me on the road each year through their support and friendship, and to our good friends Robert and Lesley Engels in Cape Town, and my unofficial editor and resident expert on all things and spellings African, Tracey Hawthorne.

Thanks to my wife Nicola, mum Kathy and mother-in-law Sheila for your unpaid and unflinching first edits. I love youse all.

Last, but never least, thank you once again to the people at Pan Macmillan who allow me to live the life I've always dreamed of: all the hard working sales team; the best publisher in the world, Deputy Publishing Director Cate Paterson; Publishing Director and excellent Mombasa tour guide James Fraser; outstanding fiction publicist Jane Novak; and my wonderful, helpful, smart editors, Sarina Rowell, Emma Rafferty and Julia Stiles.

And, if you've made it this far; thank you. You're the one who counts the most.