single companion.
His fellow traveler was a middle-aged Englishman whose stiff reserve seemed as much a part of him as the ruddy complexion, the striped old-school tie and the copy of Sotheby’s auction catalog on which his eyes were resolutely fixed.
But the persistent hospitality of the stewardess brought inevitable results, and by the time both men sampled their third drink they had moved into the comfort of the forward lounge and exchanged introductions.
The Briton’s name was Abbott—Major Ronald Abbott, late of the Fifth Royal Northumberland Fusiliers, now retired and a resident of Tahiti.
“But only for six months out of the year,” he said. “Can’t stay longer without taking out citizenship papers—the French aren’t about to let anyone poach on their private preserves.”
“You heard about the earthquake?” Keith asked. “Do you think there’s been damage done?”
Abbott shook his head. “Not to worry. It hit open water hundreds of miles south and east. Always the chance of a tidal wave, but there’s not been a bloody word about that. I’m certain you’ll find Papeete quite safe for tourists. You are on holiday, I take it?”
“Not exactly.” Keith glanced up at the stewardess, grateful for the interruption and for the fresh drink she proferred. But that, plus the effects of altitude and fatigue, served to loosen his tongue. Almost before he knew it he was discussing his self-appointed mission, and while he took care not to spell out either its nature or his motives, he spoke freely of his hasty preparations for departure.
“Sounds as though you had quite a lot on your plate,” Abbott commented. “All that rushing about.” He gave Keith a shrewd glance. “Not in some sort of legal jam, are you?”
Keith smiled. “I’m not an embezzler, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I had to get away immediately, once I realized—”
He broke off, studying Abbott’s stolid features, weighing caution against the urge to confide. One thing was certain; he’d need help if he intended to fulfill his purpose, and a man like Abbott was in a position to know his way around local rules and regulations.
But what else might he know?
Taking a deep breath, Keith made the plunge.
“Are you by any chance familiar with the work of a writer named H.P. Lovecraft?”
Abbott stirred his drink. “Don’t know the name. Friend of yours?”
“No—but there’s something he wrote, a story that explains what I’m hoping to do. If I could impose on you—”
“Let’s have a look at it,” Abbott said.
“I forgot.” Keith frowned. “I’m afraid it’s in with the luggage.”
“No problem. Give it to me after we land and I’ll have a fast read.”
At the airport, following customs inspection, Keith located The Outsider and Others in one of his bags and indicated the story in question.
“The Call of —what?” Abbott broke off, puzzled.
“I think it’s pronounced ‘Cuth-uul-hoo,’ ” Keith told him. “Anyway, that’s not important. Just read it and let me know your reaction.”
Abbott nodded. “Where are you putting up?”
“The Royal Tahitian.”
“Good. I’ll ring you tonight at the hotel.”
The Royal Tahitian was a relic of an earlier era, before the jet-borne tourist invasion. Old, rambling, and utterly charming, the main structure was surrounded by spacious grounds dotted with individual cottages. Here the traditional tamaré was danced, and as Keith explored the garden area he discovered a giant stone phallus, which might well have served as an object of worship in ancient times. He smiled at the sight, then sobered as he pondered what else the Polynesians worshipped in those days—or what some of them might worship still. Not here, of course, in a Papeete hotel, or anywhere near roadways strident with motorbike traffic and the sound of transistor radios.
If olden customs and beliefs persisted, they’d be found in the interior where wild pigs rooted on the
His fellow traveler was a middle-aged Englishman whose stiff reserve seemed as much a part of him as the ruddy complexion, the striped old-school tie and the copy of Sotheby’s auction catalog on which his eyes were resolutely fixed.
But the persistent hospitality of the stewardess brought inevitable results, and by the time both men sampled their third drink they had moved into the comfort of the forward lounge and exchanged introductions.
The Briton’s name was Abbott—Major Ronald Abbott, late of the Fifth Royal Northumberland Fusiliers, now retired and a resident of Tahiti.
“But only for six months out of the year,” he said. “Can’t stay longer without taking out citizenship papers—the French aren’t about to let anyone poach on their private preserves.”
“You heard about the earthquake?” Keith asked. “Do you think there’s been damage done?”
Abbott shook his head. “Not to worry. It hit open water hundreds of miles south and east. Always the chance of a tidal wave, but there’s not been a bloody word about that. I’m certain you’ll find Papeete quite safe for tourists. You are on holiday, I take it?”
“Not exactly.” Keith glanced up at the stewardess, grateful for the interruption and for the fresh drink she proferred. But that, plus the effects of altitude and fatigue, served to loosen his tongue. Almost before he knew it he was discussing his self-appointed mission, and while he took care not to spell out either its nature or his motives, he spoke freely of his hasty preparations for departure.
“Sounds as though you had quite a lot on your plate,” Abbott commented. “All that rushing about.” He gave Keith a shrewd glance. “Not in some sort of legal jam, are you?”
Keith smiled. “I’m not an embezzler, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I had to get away immediately, once I realized—”
He broke off, studying Abbott’s stolid features, weighing caution against the urge to confide. One thing was certain; he’d need help if he intended to fulfill his purpose, and a man like Abbott was in a position to know his way around local rules and regulations.
But what else might he know?
Taking a deep breath, Keith made the plunge.
“Are you by any chance familiar with the work of a writer named H.P. Lovecraft?”
Abbott stirred his drink. “Don’t know the name. Friend of yours?”
“No—but there’s something he wrote, a story that explains what I’m hoping to do. If I could impose on you—”
“Let’s have a look at it,” Abbott said.
“I forgot.” Keith frowned. “I’m afraid it’s in with the luggage.”
“No problem. Give it to me after we land and I’ll have a fast read.”
At the airport, following customs inspection, Keith located The Outsider and Others in one of his bags and indicated the story in question.
“The Call of —what?” Abbott broke off, puzzled.
“I think it’s pronounced ‘Cuth-uul-hoo,’ ” Keith told him. “Anyway, that’s not important. Just read it and let me know your reaction.”
Abbott nodded. “Where are you putting up?”
“The Royal Tahitian.”
“Good. I’ll ring you tonight at the hotel.”
The Royal Tahitian was a relic of an earlier era, before the jet-borne tourist invasion. Old, rambling, and utterly charming, the main structure was surrounded by spacious grounds dotted with individual cottages. Here the traditional tamaré was danced, and as Keith explored the garden area he discovered a giant stone phallus, which might well have served as an object of worship in ancient times. He smiled at the sight, then sobered as he pondered what else the Polynesians worshipped in those days—or what some of them might worship still. Not here, of course, in a Papeete hotel, or anywhere near roadways strident with motorbike traffic and the sound of transistor radios.
If olden customs and beliefs persisted, they’d be found in the interior where wild pigs rooted on the
Similar Books
