Read Online Hungry as the Sea by Wilbur Smith - Free Book Online Page B

long jagged horizon where the peaks of the swells seemed black and substantial as rock. He paused with a leap of his pulse when something white blinked in the field of the glasses and then, with a little sick slide, realized that it was only a random ray of sunlight catching a pinnacle of ice from the floating bergs.
    He lowered the glasses and crossed from the windward wing of the bridge to the lee. He did not need the glasses now, Cape Alarm was black and menacing against the sow’s-belly grey of the sky. Its ridges and valleys picked out with gleaming ice and banked snow, and against her steep shore, the sea creamed and leapt high in explosions of purest white.
    “Sixteen miles, sir,” said the First Officer, coming to stand beside him. “And the current seems to be setting a little more northerly now.” They were both silent, as they balanced automatically against the violent pitch and roll of the deck.
    Then the Mate spoke again with a bitter edge to his voice, “Where is that bloody frog?” And they watched the night of Antarctica begin to shroud the cruel lee shore in funereal cloaks of purple and sable.
     
    She was very young, probably not yet twenty-five years of age, and even the layers of heavy clothing topped by a man’s anorak three sizes too big could not disguise the slimness of her body, that almost coltish elegance of long fine limbs and muscle toned by youth and hard exercise. Her head was set jauntily on the long graceful stem of her neck, like a golden sunflower, and the profuse mane of long hair was sun-bleached, streaked with silver and platinum and copper gold, twisted up carelessly into a rope almost as thick as a man’s wrist and piled on top of her head. Yet loose strands floated down on to her forehead and tickled her nose so that she pursed her lips and puffed them away. Her hands were both occupied with the heavy tray she carried, and she balanced like a skilled horsewoman against the ship’s extravagant plunging as she offered it.
    “Come on, Mrs. Goldberg,” she wheedled. “It will warm the cockles of your tum.”
    “I don’t think so, my dear,” the white-haired woman faltered.
    “Just for me, then,” the girl wheedled.
    “Well,” the woman took one of the mugs and sipped it tentatively. “It’s good,” she said, and then quickly and furtively, “Samantha, has the tug come yet?”
    “It will be here any minute now, and the Captain is a dashing frenchman, just the right age for you, with a lovely tickly mustache. I’m going to introduce you first thing.” The woman was a widow in her late fifties, a little overweight and more than a little afraid, but she smiled and sat up a little straighter.
    “You naughty thing,” she smiled.
    “Just as soon as I’ve finished with this,” Samantha indicated the tray, “I’ll come and sit with you. We’ll play some klabrias, okay?”
    When Samantha Silver smiled, her teeth were very straight and white against the peach of her tanned cheeks and the freckles that powdered her nose like gold dust. She moved on.
    They welcomed her, each of them, men and women, competing for her attention, for she was one of those rare creatures that radiate such warmth, a sort of shining innocence, like a kitten or a beautiful child, and she laughed and chided and teased them in return and left them grinning and heartened, but jealous of her going so they followed her with their eyes. Most of them felt she belonged to them personally, and they wanted all of her time and presence, making up questions or little stories to detain her for a few extra moments.
    “There was an albatross following us a little while ago, Sam.”
    “Yes, I saw it through the galley window.”
    “It was a wandering albatross, wasn’t it, Sam!”
    “Oh, come on, Mr. Stewart! You know better than that.”
    “It was Diomedea Melanophris, the black-browed albatross, but still it’s good luck.”
    “All albatrosses are good luck that’s a scientifically proved