and distinctly cool.’
‘What did she want – money?’
I shook my head. ‘She could buy me those two planes and never notice it. No, she just wants her freedom. I’m expecting the good word any day now.’
‘You don’t sound in any great pain.’
‘Dust and ashes a long, long time ago.’ I grinned. ‘Look, I’ll put you out of your misery. Joe Martin, in three easy lessons. I did a degree in business administration at the London School of Economics and learned to fly with the University Air squadron. I had to do a couple of years National Service when I finished, so I decided I might as well get something out of it and took a short service commission as a pilot with the old Fleet Air Arm. My wife was an actress when I first met her. Bit parts with the Bristol Old Vic. All very real and earnest.’
‘When did you get married?’
‘When I came out of the service. Like your Uncle Max, I took a job in the City, in my case Public Relations.’
‘Didn’t it work out?’
‘Very well indeed by normal standards.’ I frowned, trying to get the facts straight in my mind. It all seemed so unreal when you talked about it like this. ‘There were other things that went wrong. Someone discovered that Amy could sing and before we knew where we were she was making records. From then on it was one long programme of one-night stands and tours, personal appearances – that sort of thing.’
‘And you saw less and less of each other. An old story in show business.’
‘There seems to be a sort of gradual corruption about success – especially that kind. When you find that you can earn a thousand pounds a week, it’s a short step to deciding there must be something wrong in a husband who can’t make a tenth of that sum.’
‘So you decided to cut loose.’
‘There was a morning when I walked into my office, took one look at the desk and the pile of mail waiting for me and walked right out again. I spent my last thousand pounds on a conversion course and took a commercial pilot’s licence.’
‘And here you are. Joe Martin – fly anywhere – do anything. Gun-running our speciality.’ She shook her head. ‘The dream of every bowler-hatted clerk travelling each day on the City line. When do you move on to Pago Pago?’
‘That comes next year,’ I said. ‘But why should you have all the fun? Let’s see what we can find out about Ilana Eytan. A Hebrew name as I remember, so for a start you’re Jewish.’
It was like a match on dry grass and she flared up at once. ‘Israeli – I’m a sabra – Israeli born and bred.’
It was there, of course, the chip the size of a Californian Redwood and explained a great deal. I quickly smoothed her ruffled feathers. ‘The most beautiful soldiers in the world, Israeli girls. Were you ever one?’
‘Naturally – everyone must serve. My father is a lecturer in Ancient Languages at the University of Tel Aviv, but he saw active service in the Sinai campaign in 1956 and he was well into his fifties.’
‘What about this film business?’
‘I did some theatre in Israel which led to a small film part, then someone offered me work in Italy. I played bit parts in several films there. That’s where I met Jack. He was on location for a war picture. He not only took the lead – he also directed. Most of the money was his own too.’
‘And he gave you a part?’
‘A small one, but I was the only woman in the picture so the critics had to say something.’
‘And then Hollywood?’
‘Old hat. These days you do better in Europe.’
Suddenly the mist dissolved like a magic curtain and behind her, the mountain reared up into a sky that seemed bluer than ever.
‘Time to go,’ I said, and held up my hands to catch her as she jumped down.
She looked up at the mountain. ‘Has it got a name?’
‘Agsaussat,’ I said. ‘An Eskimo word. It means big with child.’
She laughed harshly. ‘Well, that’s Freudian if you like,’ she said, and turned and led the way out through the gap in the wall.
Just like that she had changed again, back into the tough, brittle young woman I had first encountered in the dining room of the hotel at Frederiksborg, safe behind a hard protective shell that could only be penetrated if she wished, and I felt strangely depressed as I followed her.
Off the southern tip of Disko we came across another two Portuguese schooners moving along nicely in a light breeze, followed by a fleet of fourteen-foot dories, their yellow and green sails vivid in the bright sunlight.
We drifted across the rocky spine of the island and dropped into the channel beyond that separates it from the mainland. I took the Otter down, losing height rapidly and a few moments later found what I was looking for.
Narquassit was typical of most Eskimo fishing villages on that part of the coast. There were perhaps fifteen or sixteen gaily painted wooden houses strung out along the edge of the shore and two or three whaleboats and a dozen kayaks had been beached just above the high water mark.
The Stella was anchored about fifty yards off-shore, a slim and graceful looking ninety-foot diesel motor yacht, her steel hull painted dazzling white with a scarlet trim. When I banked, turning into the wind for my landing, someone came out of the wheelhouse and stood at the bridge rail looking up at us.
‘Is that Jack?’ she asked as we continued our turn. ‘I didn’t get a good look.’
I shook my head. ‘Olaf Sørensen – he’s a Greenlander from Godthaab. Knows this coast like the back of his hand. Jack signed him on as pilot for the duration of the trip.’
‘Is he carrying his usual crew?’
‘They all came with him if that’s what you mean. An engineer, two deck hands and a cook – they’re American. And then there’s the steward – he’s a Filipino.’
‘Tony Serafino?’
‘That’s him.’
She was obviously pleased. ‘There’s an old friend for a start.’
I went in low once just to check the extent of the pack ice, but there was nothing to get excited about and I banked steeply and dropped her into the water without wasting any more time. I taxied towards the shore, let down the wheels and ran up on to dry land as the first of the village dogs arrived on the run. By the time I’d switched off the engine and opened the side door, the rest of them were there, forming a half-circle, stiff-legged and angry, howling their defiance.
A handful of Eskimo children appeared and drove them away in a hail of sticks and stones. The children clustered together and watched
