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there to the truth he suspected. No subtlety of expression came through but perhaps that was because of the blurring.
    ‘The agents in the Gulf are trying, too‚’ Hammarsen was saying. ‘Without success it seems.’ Over the Captain’s shoulder he could see through a window to the blue waters of the Bay. ‘Even if there’s no charter by sailing date, you can always be diverted at sea.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Captain Crutchley. ‘We can.’
    Hammarsen held up his drink. ‘Anyway. Let’s drink to a successful voyage.’
    The Captain nodded as if that were toast enough, drained his glass and replaced it somewhat noisily on the salver. He hoped the gesture would encourage Hammarsen to leave. Only when he had could Crutchley go to the bathroom, attend to his eyes and take something for the headache which had grown more severe as the morning proceeded.
     
    A breeze came through the open windows of Beau Rivage high on the ridge above the Umgeni River, and table candles flickered discreetly on the faces of the diners. To the south the lights of the city shone anonymously, their glittering pattern ruled off abruptly in the east by the dark flank of the Indian Ocean.
    ‘Marvellous view.’ Suvic pointed with his cheroot to the south.
    ‘Absolutely marvellous,’ agreed Jarrett. ‘And poor old Ocean Mammoth somewhere down there in that sea of light.’
    ‘Surely not old and poor. New and worth fifty million dollars I gather.’ Suvic coughed, half choked, frowned at the cheroot. ‘That’s a lot of money,’ he finished hoarsely.
    Behind the dissonant voices and sudden bursts of laughter, taped music wove a thin pattern of sound. Suvic looked at the cut on Jarrett’s lip. ‘Still worrying you?’
    Jarrett touched it with a finger. ‘Not really.’
    ‘What happened to the man?’
    ‘He was logged and fined.’
    A waiter appeared from behind the folds of a drawn curtain, took the wine from the ice-bucket and refilled their glasses. ‘Coffee, gentlemen?’
    ‘Please.’ Suvic looked at Jarrett. ‘Port or brandy?’
    ‘Brandy,’ said Jarrett.
    ‘Make it two,’ said Suvic. The waiter returned the wine bottle to the ice-bucket and disappeared.
    Suvic said, ‘Good man. Always around when you want him. Never says an unnecessary word, gets on with the job and knows when to smile.’
    Jarrett smiled. ‘You sound like a restaurateur.’
    ‘I know quite a lot about waiters,’ said Suvic. ‘Most of it not to their credit.’
    ‘I’ll tell you something,’ said Jarrett. ‘He’s from the Cape and the only waiter I’ve seen here tonight who isn’t Indian.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘Mixed race. Mostly from the Cape. The remnants of colonization.’ Jarrett lit the cheroot Suvic offered him, drew on it. ‘How did you find this place, Stefan?’
    ‘Nico Kostadis told me of it. His agent Hammarsen put him on to it. Don’t you remember the discussion? The other night when I bumped into you and Nico at the Oyster Box. That chat about Durban’s alleged night life?’
    Jarrett shook his head. ‘I don’t remember that, I’m afraid. Haven’t found the night life, anyway.’
    Suvic watched him through a haze of blue smoke. ‘You’d gone off to pee perhaps.’
    ‘Maybe.’
    The waiter came back with the coffee and brandies. ‘Black or white, sir?’
    ‘Black for me,’ said Suvic.
    ‘Fifty-fifty,’ said Jarrett. He winked at the waiter who smiled but said nothing.
     
    In the boardroom off the Seefeldstrasse a meeting had just concluded. It had been a difficult, gloomy affair. Among other things, Kurt Raustadt had reported on his telephone conversation with Kostadis in Durban that morning. Repair work in Ocean Mammoth ’s engineroom was well in hand, and should be completed within the next few days. But that was the only good news, if indeed it was good news since there was no employment for the ship.
    As for the rest, it was anything but good: the Liechtenstein banks, said the chairman, had proved as