Bahama Crisis. Desmond Bagley

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СКАЧАТЬ it,’ I said. ‘That’s why they’re called resort hotels. But what we don’t have in the lobby is a liquor store; if a tourist wants his booze he pays bar prices. We want to squeeze as many dollars and cents out of these people as we can while they’re in our tender care. And they are in our care, you know; they have a good time and they’re not cold-decked. We have a crêche and a children’s playground – that’s more to keep the kids out of people’s hair than for anything else – and we have a doctor and a nurse. And there’s no drill or razzmatazz – they’re just left alone to do as they please which seems to be mostly roasting in the sun.’

      Billy grimaced. ‘Not the kind of vacation I’d fancy.’

      ‘Neither would I, but we’re not tourists. So what happens when our man goes home? His friends look at that deep tan and ask him about it. “Gee!” he says. “I had the greatest time. Free sailboating, free tennis, cheap golf on the most superb course you can imagine. It was marvellous.” Then he does a hip shimmy around the office. “And, gee, that calypso beat!” That’s what he tells his friends when the snow is two feet deep in the street outside the office, and they like the idea, so they come, too. Maybe the year after.’

      Billy mused. ‘Fast turnover and small margins.’

      ‘That’s the name of the game,’ I said. ‘That’s why room occupancy is critical; we keep filled up or go broke.’

      ‘Any trouble in that direction?’

      I smiled. ‘We’re doing just fine,’ I said lightly.

      He grunted. ‘I’d like to see your profit and loss account and your balance sheet.’

      ‘If you come up with a firm offer I might give you a quick look.’ I thought for a moment. ‘I’ll introduce you to a few people and you can get a feel of the place. David Butler is a good man to talk to; he’s top man in the Ministry of Tourism here on Grand Bahama.’ I hesitated. ‘There might be a problem there.’

      ‘What problem?’

      ‘Well, you’re a southerner. Would you have any problem dealing with a black on equal terms?’

      ‘Not me,’ said Billy. ‘Billy One might, and Jack certainly would; but they won’t be involved out here.’ Billy One was Billy’s father, so called to distinguish him from Billy. Jack was his uncle and head of the Cunningham clan. ‘Is this guy, Butler, black?’

      ‘He is. There’s another thing. Any hotels you build here must be Bahamian-built and Bahamian-staffed.’

      ‘The Bahamas for the Bahamians – is that it?’

      ‘Something like that. No one else can hold down a job here if it can be done by a Bahamian.’

      Billy jerked his head towards the lobby. ‘Your hotel manager – Fletcher; he’s white.’

      ‘So am I,’ I said evenly. ‘We’re both white Bahamians. But the manager of the Sea Gardens – that’s our hotel on New Providence – is black.’

      Billy shrugged. ‘It doesn’t worry me as long as we have an efficient operation.’

      ‘Oh, we’re efficient.’ I looked up and saw Debbie Cunningham coming into the bar. ‘Here’s your cousin.’

      She was wearing a halter top and a pair of shorts which were well named – a long-stemmed American beauty. ‘I hope this is okay,’ she said, and looked down at herself. ‘I mean, do you have rules?’

      ‘Not so as you’d notice. Our visitors can dress pretty much as they like – up to a point.’ I inspected her. ‘I don’t think you’ve reached the point yet, though. Will you have a drink?’

      ‘Something soft; a Coke, maybe.’ I signalled a waiter and she sat down. ‘Isn’t this quite a place? Have you seen the pool, Billy?’

      ‘Not yet.’

      I checked the time. ‘I’m going to be busy for the next hour. Why don’t you give the place the once-over lightly and I’ll meet you at the desk. We’ll have lunch at home. If you need to know anything ask Jack Fletcher.’

      ‘That’s fine,’ said Billy. ‘You’ve told me enough already so I know what to look for.’

      I left them and went to my office to do some hard thinking. When Billy had told me the size of his proposed investment it had given me quite a jolt, although I had tried not to show it. Forty million dollars is a hell of a lot of money and that much injected into West End Securities could provide for a lot of expansion. The problem would be to avoid being swamped by it, and it was going to be quite a puzzle to put together a suitable package which would keep both me and the Cunningham Corporation happy.

      If Billy had been surprised by the Royal Palm Hotel he was equally surprised by my home and he showed it. I took him through into the atrium where the swimming pool was. He looked around and said, ‘My God!’

      I laughed. ‘Ever been in Rome in August?’

      ‘Who goes to Rome in August?’ He shrugged. ‘But yes, I have – once,’ and added feelingly, ‘Goddamn hot. I got out of there fast.’

      ‘And humid – just like here. When I built this place I had an architect dig into the plans of Roman villas; the ancient Romans, I mean. I had a feeling they’d be building for the climate. This is not a reproduction of a villa – more an adaptation. With modern conveniences, of course; air-conditioning included. But my air-conditioning costs less to run than any of my neighbours’ because the building design helps. We used some of that know-how when we built the Royal Palm; that big, tall lobby is a natural cooling tower.’

      Billy was about to say something when Julie walked out of the house. I said, ‘Here’s Julie now. Julie, you’ve met Billy, but I don’t think you know Debbie, his cousin.’

      ‘Hi, Billy, welcome to Grand Bahama. Glad to meet you, Debbie.’

      ‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Debbie.

      ‘We like to think so.’ Julie turned and called, ‘Come out of there, Sue. We have guests; come and meet them.’

      My elder daughter emerged from the pool as sinuously as an otter. ‘Say “hello” to Mr Cunningham,’ commanded Julie.

      ‘To Billy,’ I amended.

      Sue shook hands gravely. She had an impish look as she said, ‘Hello, Mr Billy Cunningham.’

      Billy laughed. ‘A regular little towhead, aren’t you?’

      ‘And this is Debbie.’ Sue curtsied, something that would have looked better done in a crinoline instead of a minimal bathing suit.

      ‘How old are you, Sue?’ asked Debbie.

      ‘Eleven years, two months, three weeks and six days,’ said Sue promptly.

      ‘You swim very well,’ said Debbie. ‘I bet you swim better than I can.’

      Julie looked pleased – Debbie had said exactly the right thing. ‘Yes, she swims well. She came second in the Marathon in her class.’

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