One Step to Danger

by John Gubert

  “How long will it go on for?” asked Jacqui.

  “I think we’ll hit over a hundred million invested,” said my father. “I will then start the fund with United’s backing. They are ready to support us up to five hundred million dollars as long as they have twice that in assets in the fund. They expect that will protect them, even if the stocks are high risk.”

  “How long will it be to get everything ready for the launch though?”

  “I suspect about three weeks. That means just after Christmas. That’s a good time as it avoids any year end balance sheet considerations that United may have. And all their managers will be greedy in the New Year as they face up to their New Year’s business targets. That’s when their judgements are the most flawed.”

  “But what should we do over the next few weeks?” inquired Jacqui. “It sounds as if there will be little for us to do. In fact, I doubt we are needed,” I said. “Look we both need a rest. Can we drop out?”

  “Where?” said my mother, “After recent events, I am a bit wary about letting you out of my sight.”

  “It depends on Jacqui. But this is an ideal time for the West Indies. I would quite like to get us a small boat and spend a couple of weeks on it. I don’t know if there will be anything good to charter though.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea,” said Jacqui. “I’d love it. I need some new summer things. I could get those here.”

  I was pleased she looked enthusiastic again about our plans. I made some calls and soon found a company with boats to charter. One was available. It had three cabins. It was fast. It had a two-man crew. It was available from the following Saturday for two weeks. I booked it immediately and arranged to confirm all.

  I booked the flights too. We would fly into London and then out by British Airways. This time I had booked us first class. We wanted to have the maximum comfort. We would stay one night in a hotel and then spend the next two weeks sailing around the coast off Barbados. It was just what we needed.

  As a precaution, I called Di Maglio and told him of our plans. He would check out the charter company and make sure we had the right crew. He would also arrange for us to have guns in Barbados in case we needed them.

  “Alberto will meet you there. He will be in contact with you should you need him. It’s better to be safe. You need the holiday. We won’t disturb you.”

  He called me back later. “I have arranged for your crew. They are our people. There will be just two people. They will be discreet. They are good people. And one is a good cook. I have told them to give you all the privacy they can. They need not spend the nights on the boat if you are in harbour. I want them around though. I just want to make sure that there are no slips. You’ll like them.”

  I realised that it was sensible. We needed the protection. He understood his world. And we would be on holiday. I was willing to tolerate his interference in this case. I explained what he had done to Jacqui and then to my parents. They too were relieved and felt it for the best.

  The next day we all went shopping. Jacqui was already returning to her old self. She simply raided the shops for summer clothes. She knew exactly where to go. Geneva was one of her cities. We even went back to the boutique where we had first met with the Russians. This time though there were no disturbances. The owner recognised us, but said not one word about the incident or her erstwhile assistant.

  I also was kitted out although Jacqui was less enthusiastic about many of the men’s clothes. The designer labels for women were, in her mind, better prepared for the affluent winter sun seeker. Men, they assumed, would just wear their summer clothes again.

  That night we went out into the old town of Geneva for dinner in a small trattoria my father had discovered in a quiet side street in the old part of town. Anybody watching us would have thought we were just another family. We looked well-to-do with both Jacqui and my mother sporting designer labels. Neither wore much jewellery. So we did not draw unwelcome attention to ourselves.

  If they had looked closer, they may have wondered why Jacqui and I were looking quite so tired. Perhaps they would have jumped to the wrong conclusions. We were winding down quite quickly after the stresses of the last weeks. It was only when we had slowed down that we realised quite the strain we had been under.

  That night, we talked for the first time for a long time of our future. We both liked the idea of being based in London. “If we are going to work in finance, that’s the best city. Frankfurt is inflexible. Paris is full of amateurs. Milan is a children’s playground and New York a regulatory nightmare. Only London gives the global reach.”

  We wondered where we would live. We talked of the places we would go. I named my favourite restaurants. We talked of the small ones we knew around Covent Garden. We both knew the fun places like Langans near the Ritz, the Oxo tower by the river, the RSJ by the National Theatre, Amaya in Belgravia or the Bombay Brasserie in Gloucester Road. Those were the places where even the famous were allowed privacy. Neither of us fancied the affected charm and ostentation of the so-called celebrity haunts where mediocre food was blended with pretentious wines.

  We talked of the theatre and opera. We talked of films. We decided we would chose London. One could fly anywhere from there. And one could do anything when based there.

  The next day we headed to that city. Our four pieces of luggage were not the same as those that had followed us half way around the world. Jacqui had replaced them. In any case we needed to leave our winter clothes behind. My parents placed them in their closet. They would await our return.

  “Christmas we can spend together,” my parents had suggested. “Geneva would be fine unless you want to go up into the mountains and do some skiing.”

  “Let’s take a rain check. We could head over to Austria. Lech in the Tirol usually has snow at this time of the year. But they may be fully booked. Or the snow could be lousy. Let’s wait and see.”

  We all said our good-byes at the airport. I noticed Alberto two rows behind us but we pretended not to know each other. It served no purpose and could be dangerous if someone were to follow us. I was learning fast the tricks of my new life.

  We landed in London and headed to transit. I had no wish to go through immigration and customs. I felt though that our passage this time would have been easier.

  We flew over to Bridgetown sitting together in the comfort of our first class seats. We selected our movies and watched them between the selection of courses that were offered to us. We drank our champagne and dutifully accepted the regular offers of water from the hostesses. “It’s strange,” I said. “Air hostesses are all supposed to be young. Yet the bulk here are not. Is it because the business has been around for a long time? They were all young with Concorde but have stayed on since.”

  We had noticed Concorde parked like a souvenir on the tarmac. Jacqui said, “There is a difference. Concorde’s paint covers up its age. That one looks as if her make up will crack. Mind you, if you want to letch over them, the pretty ones are in the popular cabins. You can go for a walk if you want.”

  “No,” I said. “I won’t even look at the menu. I have you. My appetite is satisfied.”

  “Actually,” she said, “We’ve been quite moderate these days. I just have been too bushed. You have too. But we can make up for it now. We can have two glorious weeks of sail, sun, sand and sex. That’ll make us feel better.”

  As we landed in Barbados, it looked as if we could be wrong. The sky was overcast with heavy cloud and Bridgetown looked like a provincial English town on a poor summer day.

  “It’s often like this,” said Jacqui. “It could have been sunny this morning. Then it clouds over. It means that you build up a tan in the morning and then make love all afternoon. At night, nobody cares as long as it doesn’t rain.”

  She was right. We headed to our hotel, which was down the coast from the capital. I had been there once before.

  It held the same pre-Christmas crowd it had no doubt held for many years. The American w
idow with three engagement rings of decreasing age. The aged impresario, possibly down on his luck, angling for a bank balance. The octogenarian millionaire who was accompanied by a busty blond wife some fifty years his junior. City slickers and their limpid girlfriends who had jumped for the discount offered before the season really began.

  “I am going to dress up tonight,” announced Jacqui. “It’s time for a grade one evening.”

  I groaned. “Aren’t you tired? Shouldn’t you take it easy?”

  “Not the least. We’re on holiday now. And they have a band. It’s hardly going to be about bopping the night away. Half the guests will be shoving their resuscitators and oxygen tents under the table in case of need. But we can smooch. They most likely think we are lovers. I am not wearing a ring. That means they expect us to be naughty.”

  Jacqui produced the dress she had bought on our first visit to Geneva. It was a tight fitting black sheath of silk that clung to her body like a second skin. The neckline plunged between breasts that seemed to rise triumphantly from its folds. The sheath effect continued until mid-calf when it flared out to floor level. She could wear no bra under the plunging neckline and panties would have left a mark on the thigh hugging material. She wore tights on their own as the only way to overcome this problem.

  As she moved, her hips undulated under the seductive material. Her body flowed underneath it as if eager to escape its limited constraints. Her hair was loose and fell over her shoulders. The make up was gentler as the excitement brought colour back into her cheeks.

  I was a poor relative by her side. I was dressed in slacks, a blue silk shirt and a blazer. I looked like a banker on holiday. She was anybody’s dream woman. She was the epitome of the male fantasy.

  We walked out of our room in the grounds. Each room was located in its part of a small bungalow. The main restaurant overlooked the sea, tranquil now below an umbrella of unthreatening cloud. The restaurant was full and most guests were already on their starters. The band was taking up their position, as they had no doubt been doing for some twenty good years.

  We were placed at a secluded table in a secluded corner of the restaurant. There we would be allowed to look into each other’s eyes until we tired or were disturbed. Behind us we could hear the monotonous hum of polite conversation as strangers and married couples sought to get to know each other. Occasionally an excited laugh would rise above the murmurs, but it was most likely only a reaction to the wine rather than to a witty remark.

  We ate and talked. We ignored the crowd. Some sat in embarrassed silence and looked on us as strange beings who actually appeared to have no difficulty in talking to each other. Others appeared to have been together for so long that meaningful conversation had ceased long ago. The music echoed vaguely in the background. It was not meant to dance to. The tempo would become more fitting as the evening wore on.

  Jacqui nevertheless took me onto the empty dance floor. The music was slow and languid and I went to take her in my arms for a slow and sentimental dance. But she would have none of that. Her ideas had already progressed beyond such common thoughts. She swayed to the music moving her body with all the eroticism she had portrayed in the Wan Chai night-club. I was a poor imitator. She lent forward and slipped my jacket off my shoulders, throwing it to a waiter who was passing for him to dispose of. She unbuttoned my shirt half way down to my waist and said, “Close your eyes and think of the music. Forget the people around us.”

  We seemed to move more rhythmically together. Our bodies floated closer and closer. We were holding each other but still apart. Then gradually we moved together still moving our bodies to the gentle beat of the music until we were too close to move except in unison.

  Jacqui’s arms crept up my back. She tilted her head and kissed me eagerly. I moved my hands to her shoulders and pushed her body closer. I felt her throbbing gently against me. I responded to her in a way that only she could make me.

  The band obviously thought this exhibition had gone far enough. They picked up the tempo and sought to attract other guests onto the floor. They were hardly successful as only one other couple did. Jacqui pulled herself away from me and started to show how one should move to music. Even the elderly enjoyed that. The dress she wore was made for dancing. She loved its unrestricted grasp. The voluptuousness of her body was accentuated by its softness.

  We danced for an hour or so, returning occasionally to our table for a drink. We then left the restaurant and wandered over to the narrow strip of beach. The clouds were slowly parting. The moon was not visible although one got the occasional glimpse of a star. Jacqui took her shoes off. “Let’s paddle,” she said.

  “But you’re wearing tights,” I commented. She put her hands under her dress and soon had them rolled up in a ball. She laughed and threw them to me. “A present,” she announced.

  She hitched her dress up above her knees and stood by the water’s edge. I joined her and we kissed, feeling the coolness of the night on the gentle sea that lapped around our legs. “We could go for a swim,” suggested Jacqui.

  “Not in your dress, and I think there are too many people around for even you to take it off.”

  “You’re right. Let’s head back. I can take it off there.” She picked her shoes up from the wall on which she had placed them. I followed her and we walked arm in arm back to our room. On the balcony we looked over the sea in the darkness ahead. She breathed in the breeze keenly; slipping her hand inside my shirt as my hand caressed her breast.

  She pulled herself gently away. The balcony was not visible from any of the paths that crossed the hotel grounds. She slipped the straps from her shoulders and glided the dress down to the floor. She stepped out of it and tossed it over a chair. She was now naked other than the high-heeled black shoes she had worn. She walked over to me and pressed close. Her body arching onto mine, in a way she knew I would find irresistible.

  On the balcony was a settee-like chair that swung from two chains and was topped by a canopy. She moved over to that and sat down. She pulled her legs up and lay back along its full length. Her arms went out to invite me to join her.

  My shirt was off in a moment and soon I had pulled off the rest of the clothes. Normally I would have assumed that such a chair, swinging backwards and forwards in the cool evening air, was an impossible place on which to make love. I had forgotten though Jacqui’s love of the air on her naked body. I had overlooked how the night air acted on her as an aphrodisiac. And I had forgotten how her tempestuous acts excited me. Together that made any unexpected place an idyllic spot for love making.

  We held on to each other, our movement making the chair sway gently backwards and forwards. We forgot about the background murmur from the seaside restaurant, and made love as if for the first time. As we gently eased ourselves apart some time later, the chair was still swinging in memory of the rhythm of our bodies.

  The night air was now cool against the warmth of our former closeness. We felt it creep through the heat of each other’s passion as if willing to understand its intensity. The clouds parted more and more and let stars peep through. We ignored them all but sensed only the smells of the ocean and the perfume of the grass and trees, as they both mingled with the scents from our bodies.

  We went indoors in the end when we were suddenly disturbed by voices. They didn’t see us or even dream of our naked existence. But they intruded and scared away the essence of that moment.

  Indoors, we were alone and protected from the rest of the world. We tumbled into bed, naked as we were. Our clothes strewn over the room where we had let them fall. Tomorrow we would be on the boat and the ocean would be our only guest.

  The next morning we left early and headed down to the harbour. The driver was waiting in the car. As he got out I saw it was Alberto. Neither Jacqui nor I made to recognise him.

  Once we had driven away from the hotel, he said, “There’s an extra bag with your luggage. It matches the rest perfectly. It contains some odds and ends as well as a coup
le of handguns for Charles and one for Jacqui. I suggest you hide them in the boat when you are swimming. It is better to distribute them so that you can access a gun on each of the decks.”

  When we arrived at the boat, I realised it was more comfortable than I had thought. A large sun deck on the rear opened up onto a lounge which in turn led to a bedroom with a large double bed. The top deck had a second wheel house and a similar sun deck. Canopies, that could be drawn back or forward electronically, shaded both.

  Then Alberto said, “Here are your crew.”

  I gasped with surprise as two girls approached. One was small and dark with a trim figure, slightly muscular from regular training. The other was taller with a short bob of light brown hair. She too had a slim trim body. Jacqui looked keenly at them. I thought she would be annoyed at her father. My first thought was that they were here to tempt me away from Jacqui. There was something about them though that I could not place.

  “This is Maria,” said Alberto indicating the small one. “She is a black belt judo player and one of the best shots I have seen. Her friend is Claire. She is a pentathlon champion. They both have worked for us for about five years and can be trusted. They have lived together for around three years and so get on well. You’ll enjoy their company.”

  “Where will you two sleep?” I asked. “There is only one cabin.”

  “We plan to sail around Barbados and then over to the other islands. Even at this time of the year, there is plenty of accommodation. So unless you want us on board, we will live on shore. The boat will always be watched and we are fitting it with peripheral radar that will monitor the sea around. That requires you two to do one thing. If you swim off the boat you need to wear one of these watches. They give us a signal that tells us it’s you.”

  “How can you tell someone hasn’t got hold of them?” I asked. I knew that we needed to be careful about security now. I want to play doubly cautious.

  Alberto looked at me admiringly. “You learn fast,” he said. “Next time you won’t need me around.”