It was only with some difficulty that he avoided falling into them himself.
“Shall we move out to the terrace?” she said. “The fresh breeze off the ocean is lovely.”
“LORD HAWKE WAS born healthy and boisterous as a three-ring circus on Christmas Eve around seven o’clock in the evening. He was born to a somewhat absent father, a career Navy man, and a doting mother in a leafy corner of Sussex,” Pelham said quietly. Anastasia sat back against the cushy linen sofa and placed one of her thin red cigarettes in a carved ebony holder. Pelham pulled up a chair and leaned forward to light it, an old Dunhill table lighter somehow appearing in his hand.
“His lordship spent a rather normal childhood in the company of various corgis and terriers, stern-faced maiden aunts, and an unending parade of frowning nursemaids, all supervised by yours truly.
“But how his eyes would light up at the sight of his mother. Often, she would venture upstairs to his nursery for his bedtime prayers, dripping with dewy raindrop pearls that never quite fell, whispering the softest ‘Good night, sleep tight,’ before vanishing again.
“On warm summer afternoons, Alex was always brought down to her rooms at tea time. The windows were opened to the gardens, and bees buzzed in and all about. She would read to him, stories of pirates and knights and fair damsels in distress. He loved them all. Rather fancied himself a swashbuckling pirate, I daresay.
“Eventually, they would both die, of course, Lord and Lady Hawke. Murdered by real pirates aboard their yacht on a family Caribbean vacation. Alex was only seven when it happened, but he witnessed the murders. It was horrible, ma’am, horrible beyond words. I don’t think he’s ever quite recovered. I-I know he hasn’t.
“He spent those awful months following the funeral at the shore below his grandfather’s home, building elaborate sand castles, tears streaming from his eyes. When a castle was complete, perfect, he trampled it, kicking away the turrets and battlements until it was just sand again. Then he would wander off along the sand and start another castle somewhere. So many ruined castles. So many sad days.
“The boy’s happiest early recollections would be of the great heaving blue sea beyond his windows. I can see him even now, ma’am, wheeled outside, on a small bluff directly overlooking the sea. He would sit bolt upright in his formidable navy-blue pram (it was made of steel, his first battleship, really) enraptured for hours on end.
“When storms came, nursemaids would squeal with fright and wheel their small charge back indoors. The young master, red-faced with fury at this removal from his beloved perch, would beat his small fists against the steel-sided pram, raging at the injustice of it all. He adored foul weather, always has.
“Around the age of sixteen, he left home for good. He studied first at the naval preparatory school, Homefield, in Surrey. The regime was harsh, with a curriculum geared to the needs of future midshipmen and commodores. He excelled and was accepted at the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth. He was a natural leader of men. He excelled on the athletic fields. He adored reading military history and the classics. Still does. Later, in battle, he learned that he was naturally good at war.”
“He’s a soldier?”
“He was. A pilot, Royal Navy. Now, he’s in business. Family enterprise. Quite extensive.”
“Is he happy?”
“In the absence of war, his spirits seem to go into steep decline. Sunshine and salt air help. It’s partly why we came to Bermuda. To try to mend-”
“Oh, hullo!”
Pelham stopped in midsentence and looked up.
“Fascinating stuff,” Hawke said, smiling at Pelham. “Please don’t let me interrupt.”
31
“So, you like war, do you?” Anastasia asked, once they were alone on the terrace.
“There is nothing quite so exhilarating as being shot at without effect,” Alex Hawke said, escorting her to the little red-checkered table, drink in hand.
“Churchill?” she said.
“Good for you. Winston nailed it, as usual. All right, then, who’s hungry around here? I’m famished!”
Dinner was served at the table for two overlooking the moonlit sea. A single candle inside a hurricane glass illuminated Anastasia’s face in a flickering umbra. They had simple fish, freshly caught in the grotto below, and a clean, cold white wine. Hawke had found cases of the stuff in the musty cellar.
“Delicious,” Asia said, putting the napkin to her red lips.
“Tell the chef,” Hawke said, smiling, “I think he’s already completely in love with you.”
“You don’t say? Silly me. Here I was, all the while thinking it was Pelham who cooked the dinner.”
“Very funny,” Hawke said, smiling at her.
“Bad joke. Anyway, it’s you he loves, Alex, not me. You’re very lucky to have such a kind and obviously devoted friend. To Pelham.”
She raised her glass, and he his.
“Anastasia, since the other day, that…stormy afternoon, I just want to tell you that I haven’t been able to-”
“You know what? Sorry. Let’s please change the subject, all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think we’re talking about us, Alex. Let’s not talk about us tonight. I’m afraid of us. Scared to death of it. And it’s already far too romantic out here, anyway. So tell me about you, your life. What you do. I thought you were a simple beachcomber, a lost soul without two rubles to rub together. But I don’t think so anymore. Who are you, Alex Hawke? Tell me who you are, what you do.”
“Do? My friends all claim I wake up in the morning and God throws money at me.”
She laughed out loud at that one.
He sipped his wine, looking at her above the rim. Her dark blonde hair in the candlelight, the chunks of gold at her earlobes, her green eyes gleaming. She was lovely, but she needn’t worry. He wasn’t in love with her. How could he be? Love was strictly reserved for the innocent.
“Alex?”
“Yes?”
“I asked you a question. Tell me who you are.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Well. No one special, really. Another perfectly ordinary English businessman. Half American, to be honest. My mother was an actress from Louisiana.”
“An ordinary businessman? I don’t think so. Your body has too many suspicious scars for a businessman.”
“Oh, that was just a bit of nasty business. I got shot down over Baghdad. I got a taste of Iraqi hospitality before I checked out of my suite at the Saddam Hilton.”
“And now just an ordinary businessman.”
“It’s true. You should see me marching around the City with my tightly rolled umbrella and my battered briefcase. My family has a number of interests, none of which interests me very much. I’ve managed to hire enough captains of industry to steer the various ships without me. So I came out here to Bermuda for a while. Decided I liked it. I’ve actually got a small company here, a start-up. Blue Water Logistics. Quite exciting, really.”
“Logistics. It’s one of those words I’ve never really understood. What does it mean?”
“Fairly straightforward. People, future clients all, I hope, make various things. Things that need to get moved around the planet. Sometimes huge numbers of things at great expense. Pipe for pipelines. Nuts and bolts, steel and timber, oil. You make it, we move it. That’s my new motto.”
“You should meet my father. He makes a good many things. You might find him a good client for your Blue Water.”
“What does he make?”
“He’s an inventor, primarily. A scientist. He invented a computer cheap enough for the whole world. Called the Zeta machine. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“The Wizard? I’ve got the latest one sitting on my office desk in London. Amazing little gadget. Changed the world. He invented that? You must be very proud of him.”