Read Online The Destiny of Nathalie X by William Boyd - Free Book Online Page B

shifted and stretched and felt the warm flank of Nilda brush his thigh. He eased himself out of bed and stood naked in the greenbright gloom. He freed his sweaty balls, tugging delicately at his scrotum. He rubbed his face and chest, inhaled, walked quietly out onto the balcony and felt the cool morning on his nakedness. He stood there, the wooden planks rough beneath his bare feet, and leaned on the balustrade looking at the beaten-earth parade ground his battalion had spent two weeks clearing out of the virgin jungle. There was nothing like a new parade ground, Colonel Liceu Lobo thought, with a thin smile of satisfaction, to signal you were here to stay.
    He saw Sergeant Elias Galvão emerge from the latrines and amble across the square toward the battalion mess, tightening his belt as he went. A good man, Galvão, a professional, up this early too. “Morning, Sergeant,” Colonel Licen Lobo called from his balcony. Sergeant Elias Galvão came abruptly to attention, swiveled to face his naked colonel and saluted.
    “Carry on,” Colonel Liceu Lobo instructed. Not a flicker on his impassive face, excellent. Sergeant Galvão’s lieutenant’s pips could not be long away.
    “Liceu?” Nilda’s husky sleepy voice came from the bedroom. “Where are you?” The colonel felt his manhood stir, asif of its own accord. Yes, he thought, there were some compensations to be had from a provincial command.
    Wesley, trying not to inhale, walked with his business partner, Gerald Brockway, co-owner of B.B. Radio Cars, through the humid fug of the “bullpen” toward the front door. There were three drivers there waiting for jobs and naturally they were talking about cars.
    “How’s the Carlton, Tone,” Gerald asked.
    “Magic.”
    “Brilliant.”
    “Cheers.”
    Outside, Wesley opened the passenger door of his Rover for Gerald.
    “You happy with this?” Gerald asked. “I thought you wanted an Orion.”
    “It’s fine,” Wesley said.
    “Noël got five grand for his Granada.”
    “Really?”
    “They hold their value, the old ones. Amazing. Years later. It’s well rubbish what they did, restyling like that.”
    Wesley couldn’t think of what to say. He thought a shrill ringing had started in his inner ear. Tinnitus. He lived in constant fear of tinnitus.
    “Change for the sake of change,” Gerald said, slowly, sadly, shaking his head.
    Wesley started the engine and pulled away.
    “Look at Saab.”
    “Sorry?”
    “They’ve had to bring back the 900. You can’t give away a 9000.”
    “Can we talk about something else, Ger?”
    Gerald looked at him. “You all right?”
    “Of course. Just, you know.”
    “No prob, my son. Where are we going to eat?”
    “Everyone has heard of samba and bossa nova, sure,” Wesley said. “But this is another type of music called
chorinho
—not many people know about it. Love it. Play it all the time. I can lend you some CDs.”
    “I’d like to give him a break, Wes. But something in me says fire the bastard. Why should we help him, Wes? Why? Big error. ‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ that’s my personal philosophy. Is there any way we can turn this down? What the hell is it?”
    “Chorinho.”
    “You cannot diddle major account customers. Two hours’ waiting time? I mean, what does he take us for? Couple of merchant bankers?”
    “It means ‘little cry.’ ”
    “What is this stuff, Wesley? You got any English music?”
    Wesley watched Gerald mash his egg mayonnaise into a creamy pulp. He dribbled thin streams of olive oil and vinegar onto the mixture, which he stirred, and then freely sprinkled on pepper and salt.
    “That’s disgusting,” Wesley said. “How am I meant to eat this?” He pointed his knife at his steak.
    “I haven’t had a steak for two years. You should have my teeth problems, Wesley. You should feel sorry for me, mate.”
    “I do feel sorry for you. I’d feel more sorry for you if you’d been to a dentist. You
can
be helped, you know. You