Again a shocked silence fell. They could hear the rain still pattering on the roof, but none of them noticed that its beat had lessened or had registered the fact that thunder now rumbled only in the distance. At length Gregory said to Enrico:
‘Please thank your father for his warning. And now, with my apologies for having abused your hospitality while you were absent, do you think I could have a little more rum?’
‘But yes!’ The young man eagerly stretched out a hand to the bottle and poured a lavish portion into Gregory’s mug, then he went on, ‘I’s sorry; mos’ sorry ’bout this. But my father, he is very honest mans. He could not take money an’ lead yo’ up garden path.’
‘It can’t be true!’ Manon burst out. ‘It can’t! This filthy old rogue is just being malicious. He is trying to frighten you because he believes we brought the rain that spoilt his ceremony.’
As she had spoken in French, Enrico remained unaware of her insult to his father. But Gregory abruptly waved her to silence and asked the young man, ‘Does your father often have these visions, and do they afterwards always come about?’
Enrico shrugged. ‘I regrets. I’s mos’ unhappy for yo’! His visions do not come frequent, but when he has them it is as seeing true.’
Gregory turned to Manon. ‘Then things don’t look too good. You remember what a shock he appeared to get when he looked at me on first coming into this room? Unless he did see something unusual about me there’s no accounting for that.’
‘But it must not happen,’ she protested vigorously. ‘And it can’t if you take care. From midday onwards you must not leave your hotel.’
He smiled at her. ‘The Arabs have a saying, “The fate of every man is bound about his brow”, and there is no escaping Fate. I’ve been mighty lucky. They say a cat has nine lives, but I’ve had at least a score of narrow escapes from death. And I’m not afraid to die. In fact … Anyhow, please don’t upset your charming self about me.’
Silence fell again; then, after a moment, Enrico said, ‘The rain, he has stopped. There will be much water still, but yo’ wish it and I make try to get yo’ home.’
Gregory thanked him and he went out to fetch his car. When he had brought it round to the door the visitors made formal adieux to the old man and the three woman, then went down the steps.
Water was still rushing ankle-deep down the sloping road, but the little car slushed steadily through it. Then, as they entered the tunnel on the outskirts of the city, Enrico asked, ‘Where I drop yo’?’
‘I stay at ze ‘Otel Copacabana Palace,’ said Manon.
Gregory turned to smile at her. ‘Why, so do I. How very convenient.’
A quarter of an hour later Enrico set them down outside the hotel. Gregory had palmed twenty thousand cruzeiros. As he shook hands with the young man, he said in a whisper, ‘Just for the petrol,’ then added louder, ‘Good night; we cannot thank you enough.’
With a happy grin, Enrico shook hands with Manon and drove off. It was by then after two o’clock in the morning, but Latin American cities are said never to sleep. There were still a number of people about and the bar was open. Their clothes were still damp but causing them no inconvenience so they went in. It was a long dimly-lit room, with white moulds of seahorses and starfish decorating the dark green walls. When they had settled in a corner, Gregory ordered foie-gras sandwiches and brandies-and-soda for them both. Then he said:
‘It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, but it is tomorrow night I am worried about.’
‘Please don’t be,’ he urged her. ‘Never meet trouble halfway. Tonight is far from over yet. Much better think about that. By the by, what is the number of your room?’
She hesitated, then fobbed him off by asking, ‘Why do you wish to know?’
‘So that I can tell the waiter to send a magnum of champagne up there.’
‘No! No!’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘I hadn’t even met you five hours ago. I’ll admit that I have had a few lovers, but I’m not the sort of girl who is willing to jump into bed with every attractive man she meets. I require to be courted and get to know a man really well before I am prepared to play that sort of game.’
Gregory gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’d be delighted to spend months escorting you about as your chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, given the prospect of eventually becoming your lover, but, unfortunately, it seems that in my case time does not permit such a prolonged wooing.’
‘I cannot believe it. I simply cannot.’
He shrugged. ‘I, too, find it difficult to resign myself to the thought that I’ll be a lifeless body by this time tomorrow night. But the old man seemed pretty positive that I would be, so it is only sensible to regard this as my last night on earth.’
Turning his head, he gazed straight into her big eyes and went on, ‘Try to look at it from my point of view. If you thought the odds were that in twenty-four hours you would be dead, would you be content to spend them alone, sleepless, sweating with fear at the thought of the unknown into which, within a few hours, you were to be precipitated; or, if you had the remotest chance, spend them in bed with a delightful companion who could make you temporarily forget?’
‘Of course I’d hate to be left on my own. And I’m desperately sorry for you. But, really, you are taking an unfair advantage of your situation.’
‘No,’ he insisted, ‘this is not blackmail. You are not a young, unmarried girl. You have admitted to me that you have had several lovers, so evidently your conscience is not troubled by that sort of thing. I am, too, somewhat of a judge of physical characteristics, and I would bet my last farthing that you love being made love to. So why not enjoy yourself and at the same time do me a great kindness? You like me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes; you must know that.’
‘Then all I am asking is that you should skip the usual preliminaries and be generous. Take me as your lover tonight. Then, if I die tomorrow, you’ll be able to chalk it up as one of the good deeds you have done.’
As she looked at his lean face, her full lips parted in a sudden smile and she murmured, ‘I have never met such a persuasive man, and the circumstances being so unusual, my pride is salvaged for such a swift surrender. Very well. The number of my room is 406.’
Gregory took her hand and kissed it. ‘That adds up to ten, which reduces to one—my lucky number. And I think you are adorable.’
When the waiter arrived with the drinks and sandwiches, Gregory gave him the number of Manon’s room and ordered a magnum of Krug ‘59 to be sent up there. Suddenly they found that they were both hungry, and within ten minutes the plate of sandwiches was empty. They finished their brandies-and-soda, then he escorted her to the lift and whispered, ‘How long?’
Her eyes narrowed but held a hint of laughter as she whispered back, ‘Twenty minutes, and if you are a moment later you will find my door locked.’
Up in his own room, Gregory undressed, gave himself a swift shave, put on a dressing gown, then with long-practised silence made his way like a shadow up two flights of stairs and along the now deserted corridors until he reached the door of her room. Soundlessly he opened it and slipped inside. Only seventeen minutes had elapsed since they had parted, but she was sitting up in bed naked, her hands clasped round her knees.
As they smiled at one another, he said, ‘Come, jump out of bed so that I can enjoy the sight of all your beauties.’ Without a second’s hesitation she slid from between the sheets and clasped her hands behind her neck, so that her round, firm breasts stood out in full perfection.
His glance ran over her, noting the full hips, the triangle of thick dark curls that covered her lower abdomen, the flared nostrils, through which she was already breathing deeply, and her big eyes that had taken on an almost slumbrous expression. He knew then what he was in for; but as this boded to be the last woman he could ever have, he could have wished for nothing better.
Throwing off his dressing gown, he slid his hands down the satin-soft skin of her sides, hips and buttocks. She quivered as he did so and lifted her face to his. Her thick lips seemed to engulf his and she sucked avidly at his tongue. When he pushed her gently back on to the bed she was already gasping with uncontrollable passion.
It was close on seven o’clock in the morning when he left her. They had agreed to meet downstairs for drinks at midday, then lunch together. Back in his own room he hardly gave a thought to the prophecy that his life was drawing swiftly to a close. He had been faced with probable sudden death too often, and physically he felt not exhausted but wonderfully relaxed. Having cleaned his teeth and telephoned down to be called at eleven o’clock, he got into bed. Within five minutes he was sound asleep.
Manon had also ordered her café complet to be brought to her at eleven o’clock. Having munched a croissant, she poured her coffee, lit a cigarette and lay back to think.
Like a happy cat that has licked up all the cream, she smiled at her memories of the hours Gregory had spent in her bed. Within ten minutes of meeting him the previous evening she had made up her mind to get him if she could. She had been telling the truth when she said it was not her custom to hop into bed with men after only a brief acquaintance; but she was glad, in this case, that circumstances had enabled her to do so without loss of face.
Idly, she compared Gregory with Pierre, her current lover, and could not decide which was the more physically satisfying. Mentally, she found Gregory the more stimulating companion, but that might be because he was still like a book of which she had turned only the first page. In any case, Pierre was far away in Tahiti, so she would not be plagued by jealous scenes owing to their coming into collision.
Pierre certainly had his points as a lover, but the social graces were not among them. He would have had little chance of penetrating circles that she could hope to without difficulty; that was why she had reluctantly agreed to go to Rio for him. All had gone well. She had succeeded in making the personal contact he had considered so important and had good hopes now that the venture in which they were engaged would prove successful. If it did not, she thought bleakly, she would be in a fine mess.
Manon’s besetting sin was extravagance. It had plagued her all her life, yet she never seemed to be able to control her impulse to squander money. Building a house on one of the outer islands of the Fiji group had been sheer madness. But for that, she would still be receiving a handsome income. As it was, ferrying the material over from Suva alone had cost a fortune. If the gamble that Pierre had persuaded her to finance failed she would have to sell the house, and how many people would want to buy a handsome property in such a remote place? She would be lucky if she saw a quarter of her money back. And what then? Unless they were successful she would be reduced to living on a pittance. She shuddered.
The thought of money brought her back to the present. She would never have gone to the expense of this trip to Rio had it not been essential to scare off the Brazilian. Anyway, she should have had more sense than to stay at this grande-luxe hotel; yet, after all, how could she have brought herself to live, even for a week, at some shoddy pension?
She had booked a passage back to Tahiti for two days hence, but now this exciting Englishman had come on the scene. And she had gathered from something Patricia Wellesley had said that he was extremely rich. Somehow she must find the money to stay on for a while. If need be, she could sell a ring.
Suddenly it came back to her that Gregory was doomed to die within twenty-four hours. Could that possibly be true? Fortune-tellers often made false predictions. Yet the old man had been terrifyingly accurate about herself. He had told her she would have a new lover, had spoken of another with whom she had financial ties, which fitted Pierre and, quel horreur, had dragged up from the past the fact that she had killed Georges. At the memory of how she killed him, another shudder ran through her. Thrusting the thought from her mind, she jumped out of bed and ran herself a bath.
The Copacabana Palace formed a huge quadrilateral built round a large swimming pool. Three of its sides were many storeys high and looked down on the pool or across the fourth, much lower side, to the sea. This fourth side faced the promenade and contained the reception hall, bars, restaurant and grill room. But a wide terrace ran all round the pool and along it were set tables, under gaily-coloured umbrellas, at which guests could take their meals in the open while watching the bathers.
A little before twelve o’clock, Gregory, dressed in a bright blue open-necked shirt and a freshly pressed suit of pale fawn linen, secured one of the tables just outside the bar and ordered himself a Planter’s Punch. His four hours’ sleep had considerably refreshed him, although he admitted to himself that at his age he could not stand up to a succession of nights like that just passed. Having gratefully downed the first half of his drink, he smiled cynically to himself at the thought that it looked as though he would not be called on to do so.
Manon did not put in an appearance until nearly half past twelve. She looked as fresh as a daisy and came towards him with the faintly swaggering air of a woman who is extremely chic and knows it. The scarlet dress she was wearing suited her dark hair and bronzed skin to perfection. The skirt was short and flaring, displaying her admirable legs, and the bodice had a deep ‘V’, showing the valley between her full breasts. Gregory would have bet good money that she had very little on beneath the dress; but the heat from the sun blazing almost directly overhead was excuse enough for that, and most of the people sitting nearby were wearing only bikinis or bathing shorts.
Seeing the circumstances in which they had parted only a few hours before, it was quite natural that anyone who observed them exchanging greetings would have taken them for old friends, but in fact they knew next to nothing about each other; and within a few minutes of Manon’s having been provided with a drink, she said:
‘I gave up blushing long ago, but if I hadn’t I would now at the thought of what happened last night, and that we’re practically strangers. I don’t even know if you’re married.’
He looked a little surprised at the question, then shook his head. ‘No; I lost my wife some years ago.’
‘Well,’ she smiled, ‘men have been known to travel without their wives and, er … How did you lose her?’
‘We were guests with several other people on a private yacht owned by an old friend of mine, Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, enjoying a round-the-world cruise. One night, on the run up from Tahiti to Hawaii, the yacht struck an uncharted reef that ripped her bottom out. It was all over in a few minutes and a high sea was running. Everyone aboard except myself was drowned, and I was washed up on a remote island.’
‘How awful for you. Were you very devoted to her?’
‘Very. I still miss her terribly.’
‘Had you been married to her long?’
‘Since the end of the war, and we had been lovers from within a few weeks of its beginning.’
‘Why didn’t you marry her before, then?’
‘For one thing she was already married. For another, there were various complications, which made it next to impossible for her to get a divorce.’
‘Do tell me about her.’
Gregory shook his head. ‘No, my dear. The history of an old love would only bore you.’
‘It certainly would not. You are a fascinating person and I want to know every single thing about you.’
He grinned at her. ‘Then we are two fascinating persons. All right, if you insist. But let’s order lunch first.’
When they had studied the long menu the waiter brought them, Gregory decided on cold bisque homard and poulet Duc de Bourgoyne; Manon on melon, followed by a tournedos done rare and a caju ice.
‘I think I could manage an ice, too,’ he said. ‘But what is caju?’
‘Cashew,’ she replied. ‘But this isn’t made from the nuts. It is flavoured with the fresh fruit of the plant, and it’s delicious.’
‘Really! Then I’ll try one.’ Handing the menu back to the waiter, he went on: ‘As a young man I was a foreign correspondent. Later I carried out several special investigations for Sir Pellinore, the grand old man I mentioned a few minutes ago. He was a banker and immensely wealthy. When the war came he asked me to go into Germany and attempt to get in touch with a group of Generals who were conspiring to overthrow Hitler.’
Manon’s eyes widened. ‘So you became a secret agent. How thrilling!’
‘That’s it and it was on my first mission that I met Erika. She came from a famous Bavarian family and was the daughter of General von Epp. When I met her she was married to a Count von Osterberg. In the early days she had been pro-Nazi and was a great friend of Hermann Goering’s, but she had quarrelled with Hitler about his persecution of the Jews and she proved to be my lead to the conspirators.’
‘What was she like?’
‘Golden-haired, blue-eyed and rather like Marlene Dietrich. She was said to be one of the loveliest women in Germany. We fell for one another right away, but she refused to leave Germany for England with me after the failure of the Munich Bomb Plot.
‘Instead, she took refuge in Finland. There we met again. Later we were in Norway together, then in Belgium, where she was shot and badly wounded; but I got her off from the beaches of Dunkirk. In due course I carried out many other missions for Sir Pellinore. On one occasion I went into Germany to get Erika out after she had been lured back there and had fallen into a trap. Finally, we met again in Berlin in the last week of the war. The Russians were storming the city and we escaped only by the skin of our teeth. You see now how it was that we couldn’t get married until the war was over.’
‘It all sounds incredibly exciting. Are you still a secret agent?’
Gregory laughed. ‘Good gracious, no. I gave up that sort of thing long ago.’
‘What do you do for a living, then?’
‘Nothing. Sir Pellinore was a most generous patron. That enabled me to buy a charming estate in Dorset, and Erika and I settled down there. The old boy had no children and when he died he left me a large part of his fortune; so I can well afford to spend the greater part of the year travelling. Since I lost Erika I’ve done little else.’
Manon sighed. As Gregory’s death was predicted for that night, his confirmation that he was very rich added insult to injury. That Fate should have sent her such a charming lover and one who could afford to indulge her every whim, yet rob her of him before she had a chance to make a bid to share his wealth, was doubly cruel.
After a moment he said, ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me about yourself.’
She shrugged. ‘My story is nowhere near so exciting as yours. I was born in Algiers and come from an old French colonial family. I was only ten when the war started. It didn’t make very much difference to our lives, although there was great excitement at the time of the Anglo-American landings. After the war my parents sent me to Paris to complete my education, and I lived with an aunt. I liked Paris much better than Algiers; so when my schooling was finished I stayed on there, and as the family was not very well off I earned my living for six years working in an art gallery.
‘Naturally my parents expected me to spend my holidays with them, and it was in Algiers that I met Georges de Bois-Tracy. He was a good bit older than me, but quite attractive, and he owned hundreds of hectares of vineyards in one of the best wine-producing districts. By then I was twenty-five and had had several affaires, but none of them with men who could afford to keep a wife with my extravagant tastes; whereas Georges could give me everything I wanted. At least I believed so at the time.
‘That he didn’t wasn’t altogether his fault. It was mainly due to the increasingly troubled state of Algeria. From the time of the victory celebrations in 1945 there had been unorganised risings and an agitation for independence. These had been suppressed with a firm hand; but the agitation continued and in 1947 the Muslims, led by Missali Hajj, got the vote. Everyone in Algeria knew that they were living on a volcano, but it seemed that the Government had control of the situation and there was no reason to suppose that there was any serious menace to the white population.
‘Matters still stood like that when I married Georges in June 1954. I had expected to spend most of my time living a pleasant social life in his house in Algiers and to be able to make trips to Paris two or three times a year. But on November 1st, less than five months after my marriage, there were simultaneous risings in seventy localities. Our estate was a long way from the capital and we were out there at the time. There was no trouble in our area, but the risings continued sporadically all over the country; and Georges decreed that we must remain on our property to protect it.
‘We armed our employees and they were loyal to us, but they might not have remained so if Georges and I had left them on their own for any length of time. Now that bands of Arabs were carrying out organised raids on the isolated homes of the white Colons, to leave the place for even a few days was to risk returning to find it burned to the ground and every cask of wine in the bodegas stove in.’
‘Surely,’ Gregory remarked, ‘your husband could have remained there and let you live in the city? In any case, he ought to have done that if the place was likely to be attacked, rather than expose you to danger.’
‘Oh, he could have, but he wouldn’t,’ Manon replied bitterly. ‘He was obsessed by jealousy and feared that if we lived apart even for a few weeks I would start an affaire with another man. So I was condemned to lead a dreary life out there in the country, miles from anywhere. And, of course, we were attacked several times. In the spring of 1956 the Front of National Liberation was formed, and things got steadily worse. Again and again I begged Georges to sell out for what we could get, as on the income from his investments we could have left Algeria and gone to live in reasonable comfort in Paris. But he had inherited his property from four generations of forbears and flatly refused to give it up.
‘In 1958 the F.L.N. formed a Provisional Government of the Algerian Republic. Although it could not establish itself on Algerian soil, it was recognised by all the Arab States and by then was conducting widespread terrorist activities all over the country. But that same year Charles de Gaulle came back to power. We all took heart because we thought that, being a strong man, within a few months he would restore order.
‘Instead, matters became even worse. The months dragged by and in 1961 he permitted the referendum on self-determination. The O.A.S.—of which, of course, we were members—succeeded in preventing the Arabs from getting a clear majority, but in ‘62 that cochon de Gaulle betrayed us and declared Algeria independent.
‘To be left at the mercy of a coloured Government seemed the last straw, but Georges still refused to sell out and emigrate. Although I had no money of my own, I had practically made up my mind to leave him; but that summer he developed heart trouble, so I felt that I must remain with him, anyhow until he showed signs of getting better. But he didn’t. In the autumn he had a fatal attack.’
Manon paused to light a cigarette. While she did so she recalled vividly the afternoon on which the attack had occurred. Georges had called to her to get from his desk the drops he took to counter such attacks. She had, and had actually given them to him. Then, on a sudden impulse to end matters and regain her freedom, she had snatched the bottle back from him, thrown it out of the window and, with distended eyes, watched him die in agony. For the thousandth time she cursed herself for her folly in not having simply kept the bottle. But that was another matter.
After a moment she went on: ‘Georges’ death meant liberation from my prison—an end to eight of the best years of my life utterly wasted. But he had left me the greater part of his money, so I was free to leave Algeria and make a home for myself wherever I chose.
‘Naturally, my inclination was to return to Paris, but the idea of living in France as long as it was ruled by that traitor de Gaulle was repugnant to me, and the climate of Paris is horrid in winter. I have always loved the sun; so I decided to settle in Tahiti.
‘At first I lived in an hotel, then I rented a small villa, as I meant to take my time looking for a really pleasant property. But after I had been in the island for six months the situation there rapidly began to deteriorate. Thousands of white Colons from Algeria, who had been dispossessed, were sent out there by de Gaulle. Very few of the poor wretches had any money, so many of them turned to crime and the streets of Papeete became dangerous at night. My own position, as a still wealthy French ex-patriate from Algeria, became, too, a specially awkward one, because I had quite a number of old friends and acquaintances among the new arrivals. I helped them as much as I could, but they were constantly borrowing money from me that I knew I should never see back, and I simply could not afford to go on like that.
‘While I was wondering how to get out of this awkward situation, I took a trip to Fiji and fell in love with it. Some of the outer islands are absolutely heavenly, particularly those to the west. I bought one in the Mamanuca Group, and built a house on it. There, now you know all there is to know about me.’
Over lunch they talked on over their respective pasts with so much enjoyment in each other that they both temporarily forgot the shadow that hung over Gregory.
When they had finished their meal Gregory said, ‘There is nothing I would like more than to ask you to dine with me tonight; but, unfortunately, I’m committed to dine at the British Embassy.’
Quickly she laid a hand on his. ‘Don’t go. Please don’t go. I want you to stay here and lock yourself in your room.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t like to cry off at the last moment. Our Ambassador learned through Hugo Wellesley that I was in Rio, and he said how much he would like to talk over old times with me. You see, it was not until after the war that he went into the Foreign Service, and during the war he held a post that brought him into contact with many of my own activities. And this is to be a tête-à-tête dinner; just H.E. and myself.’
For some while Manon strove to persuade Gregory to change his mind; but, although he had long been out of the game, he knew, from what Hugo had said, that the Ambassador wanted a private talk with him about the world situation; so he remained firm.
At length she said with a sigh, ‘Very well then. But at least let me see you again before you go. We’ll go up for our siesta now, but come along to my room about six o’clock. I’ll have a bottle of champagne on ice up there and we’ll hang the “Don’t Disturb” notice outside the door.’
Gregory needed no telling what she had in mind and, now fortified by an excellent lunch, he smilingly accepted the challenge.
That evening his session with Manon matured as he had expected, to their mutual delight. While he was dressing, she again pleaded desperately with him not to go out. But he told her not to worry, as the only risk he could think of was that of being attacked by thugs. As he would be going by taxi, such an occurrence was most unlikely; and if it did happen, few people were better qualified by long practice than he was to take care of themselves. At a quarter to eight, after a last lingering kiss, he left her to go to his own room to change.
Nevertheless, having survived so many perils only owing to his lifelong habit of never taking an unnecessary risk, he had been in half a mind to plead sudden illness as an excuse for not keeping his dinner engagement. His resolve not to do so had actually been determined by the fact that death had no terrors for him. On the contrary, as he had always been a convinced believer in survival after death, it held a promise for him of reunion with his beloved Erika. Even so, before he left he took the precaution of slipping a small automatic, with which he always travelled, into his hip pocket.
At four o’clock that afternoon it had again begun to rain, heavily and persistently. In fact, the downpour was such that, while in the taxi that took him to the Embassy, he could not see through the windows for more than a hundred yards ahead.
The British Embassy in the Rua Sao Clemente was a fine copy of Georgian achitecture. Built in the late forties, it stood well back from the street in a pleasant garden. The lofty, handsomely furnished rooms recalled the more spacious days of the past, but Gregory and the Ambassador dined in a small, well-stocked library.
His Excellency was a genial host and most knowledgeable; so Gregory thoroughly enjoyed an admirable meal and their long talk afterwards about the foreign policies of various nations which had resulted in trouble spots developing in so many parts of the world.
During the evening H.E. asked Gregory if he was going up to Brasilia.
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘The fantastic buildings in the new capital must be some of the finest examples of modern architecture in the world, but one can appreciate them well enough from photographs and, I gather, there is nothing else to see there.’
‘That’s true,’ the Ambassador agreed. ‘One must admire the Brazilians for their stupendous effort to show that they are no longer a backward nation, but the huge cost of it has ruined their economy and the city has become a white elephant. The Congressmen and Senators who have to hold their sessions there loathe it and positively fight for places on the planes to get back to Rio every weekend. It has, too, developed into a depressed area. The many thousands of labourers who were sent up there to build it are now mostly unemployed, so the suburbs have become huge shanty towns where poverty is rampant. However, should you change your mind, let me know and I’ll furnish you with introductions to the unfortunate members of my staff who are compelled to live there.’
Soon after midnight a taxi was summoned to take Gregory back to his hotel. The rain was still coming down in torrents. After eight hours of steady downpour the drains were choked and the street, awash well above the pavements, looked like a turbulent river.
On being told to go to the Copocabana Palace, the driver, in a travesty of English flavoured with an American accent, said he would do his best but could make no promise, as the water was pouring in thousands of gallons down the mountainsides through the city to the sea. But it could not get away there because the tide was rising and blocking the escape of the flood-waters. In consequence they would be still deeper near the shore, and Grgeory might have to walk the last mile or more.
As they progressed at only a few miles an hour, Gregory saw that the man had good reason for his pessimism. Every street they entered had abandoned cars in it and when they reached the broad waterfront, two-thirds of the way along Botafogo Bay, there were long lines of stationary vehicles left awash by their owners. The water there was knee-deep and its height was increasing every moment. The taxi man succeeded in keeping going only by driving his cab up on to and along the pavement.
A few hundred yards further on they reached a big open space at the southern end of the bay, called the Mourisco. There the taxi should have turned inland in the direction of the tunnel, but it pulled up with a jerk. Turning, the driver made Gregory understand that he dared go no further. At such a slow pace it would take him at least another half-hour to reach the Copacabana Palace, and by the time he got back to recross the Mourisco, the water would have risen to a level that would submerge his engine.
The sight of the floods had at last made Gregory really uneasy. Now, cursing his folly at not having asked H.E. to put him up for the night at the Embassy, he reluctantly got out and paid off the driver. The water was well above his knees and he found it a considerable effort to splash through it.
Miles of the seafront along Rio’s many bays consist of reclaimed land which has been laid out in long, broad lawns planted with ornamental trees. Some stretches are wider than others and the Mourisco is one of these. It forms a small triangular park with three main streets running into it. The whole of the area was inundated, so no pavements, street islands or flower-beds were visible. From between the blocks of buildings, several hundred yards away from where Gregory had left the taxi, the streets, seen only vaguely through pouring rain, had the appearance of rushing rivers. Behind him the flood merged with the sea, so the little park was one great sheet of water, from which rose only the trees and the upper parts of stranded vehicles.
Being unable to make out any of the paths, Gregory had no option but to head straight across the park in the direction in which he knew the tunnel lay. He had not gone twenty yards before he struck rising ground, so knew that he must be crossing a flower-bed. Next moment, as he plunged down its far side, he tripped and fell. As he was already drenched to the skin, that made him no wetter, but he had gulped down a mouthful of evil-tasting water.
Cursing, he picked himself up and stumbled on for a further thirty yards with the water sloshing about his lower thighs. Suddenly the ground seemed to give beneath his feet and he plunged in up to his armpits. He had walked into a hidden gully. Now using his hands and arms as well as his legs, he thrust himself forward until he had crossed the gully and mounted the far side. Resting for a moment, he drew in a few deep breaths while taking stock of his situation.
He was only a third of the way across the Mourisco and when he reached the far side he would still have to wade up the street leading to the tunnel. The water should be shallower there. But what when he came out at the far end of the tunnel? The deluge must have flooded the Copacabana waterfront as deeply as it had that of Botafogo Bay, and the promenade was much narrower there. The tide was coming in, but, even so, he might get caught in a current and swept out to sea. After a moment he decided that it would be much safer to take the right hand of the three streets and make his way back to the Embassy.
Altering his direction slightly, he set off again. Forcing his legs and knees through the swirling water, and breathing heavily, he ploughed on for another few minutes; then his left foot struck something and with a great splash he measured his length in the water. This time he had caught his foot in one of the low iron hoops that edged the plots of grass.
As he fell, he felt a fierce pain shoot through his left ankle, and knew that he had either sprained or broken it. When he stumbled to his feet and tried his weight upon it the pain was agonising. Setting his teeth, he struggled a few steps, slipped on the muddy slope of another flower-bed and sprawled facedown in another gully.
Fortunately, it was shallower than the first into which he had stumbled. Squirming round, he was able to sit up with his head still above the water level. Desperately anxious now, he began to shout for help. But no moving vehicle was in sight, nor any pedestrian. Through the half-blinding rain he could see the lighted windows in the not-far-distant buildings. There lay safety. In normal conditions the people in those rooms would have heard him. But the roar of the torrential rain drowned his shouts and the water was still rising. Grimly, he realised that his life now depended upon his ability to bear the atrocious pain in his ankle for another hundred yards until he was close enough to be heard.
Gritting his teeth, he prepared to make the effort. Then, just as he put his weight on his good foot to stand up, something hit him hard on the back of the head, knocking him forward and sideways. As he rolled over and under, whatever it was came to rest across his body. Thrusting his head above the surface, he shook the water from his eyes. In the semi-darkness he peered at the thing that now pinned him down. It was a long wooden bench that had come adrift from its footings and was being swept out to sea. The bench was made of that heavy timber strangely enough known in Europe as ‘Brazil wood’ long before the Portuguese had discovered Brazil, but from which the country had taken its name. Strive as he would, Gregory could not lift it from his chest or squirm from beneath it. The water was lapping against his mouth and only by straining his neck could he keep his nostrils an inch or so above the wavelets.
Up to that moment Gregory had been no more than considerably worried and still confident that, as had been the case so many times in the past, by keeping his head he would find a way out of his dangerous situation. Now he knew that he was trapped with little hope of escape. Faced with imminent death, he endeavoured to resign himself to it by fixing his thoughts on Erika. For a while he lay there gasping and spitting as, every few moments, the water lapped against his mouth and nose. Suddenly, he felt that he could bear it no longer. Animated again by the will to live, he gathered all his strength and made a final effort. It resulted in the heavy bench shifting a little without warning, so that its weight forced back his head. Next moment, his eyes bulging, he was gulping down water. Before he lost consciousness his last grim thought was:
‘So that damned Macumba priest was right. I’ve been doomed to die in a ditch.’