The Drowned World. Martin Amis

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      Directly below them was the lower level, a small swimming pool with a covered patio, bright deck-chairs drawn up in the shade by the diving board. Yellow Venetian blinds masked the windows around three sides of the pool, but through the vanes they could see the cool shadows in the interior lounge, the glint of cut-glass and silver on the occasional tables. In the dim light under the striped blue awning at the rear of the patio was a long chromium counter, as inviting as an air-conditioned bar seen from a dusty street, glasses and decanters reflected in a diamond-paned mirror. Everything in this private haven seemed clean and discreet, thousands of miles away from the fly-blown vegetation and tepid jungle water twenty storeys below.

      Beyond the far end of the pool, screened by an ornamental balcony, was a wide, open view of the lagoon, the city emerging from the encroaching jungle, flat sheets of silver water expanding towards the green blur along the southern horizon. Massive silt banks lifted their backs through the surface, a light yellow fur along their spines marking the emergence of the first giant bamboo groves.

      The helicopter rose from its platform on the roof of the base and arced upwards into the air towards them, the pilot swinging the tail as he changed direction, then roared overhead, two men in the open hatchway searching the rooftops with binoculars.

      Beatrice Dahl lay back on one of the deck-chairs, her long oiled body gleaming in the shadows like a sleeping python. The pink-tipped fingers of one hand rested lightly on an ice-filled glass on a table beside her, while the other hand turned slowly through the pages of a magazine. Wide blue-black sunglasses hid her smooth sleek face, but Kerans noted the slightly sullen pout of her firm lower lip. Presumably Riggs had annoyed her, forcing her to accept the logic of his argument.

      The Colonel paused at the rail, looking down at the beautiful supple body with ungrudging approval. Noticing him, Beatrice pulled off her sunglasses, then tightened the loose back-straps of her bikini under her arms. Her eyes glinted quietly.

      “All right, you two, get on with it. I’m not a strip show.”

      Riggs chuckled and trotted down the white metal stairway, Kerans at his heels, wondering how he was going to persuade Beatrice to leave her private sanctuary.

      “My dear Miss Dahl, you should be flattered that I keep coming to see you,” Riggs told her, lifting back the awning and sitting down on one of the chairs. “Besides, as the military governor of this area”—here he winked playfully at Kerans—“I have certain responsibilities towards you. And vice versa.”

      Beatrice regarded him briefly with a jaundiced eye and reached out to turn up the volume of the radiogram behind her. “Oh God…” She muttered some further, less polite imprecation under her breath and looked up at Kerans. “And what about you, Robert? What brings you out so early in the day?”

      Kerans shrugged, smiling at her amiably. “I missed you.”

      “Good boy. I thought perhaps that the gauleiter here had been trying to frighten you with his horror stories.”

      “Well, he has, as a matter of fact.” Kerans took the magazine propped against Beatrice’s knee and leafed through it idly. It was a forty-year-old issue of Paris Vogue, from its icy pages evidently kept somewhere in cold storage. He dropped it on the green-tiled floor. “Bea, it looks as if we’ll all have to leave here in a couple of days’ time. The Colonel and his men are pulling out for good. We can’t very well stay on after he’s gone.”

      “We?” she repeated dryly. “I didn’t know there was any chance of your staying behind?”

      Kerans glanced involuntarily at Riggs, who was watching him steadily. “There isn’t,” he said firmly. “You know what I mean. There’ll be a lot to do in the next forty-eight hours. Try not to complicate things by making a last emotional stand.”

      Before the girl could cut back at Kerans, Riggs added smoothly: “The temperature is still going up, Miss Dahl, you won’t find it easy to stand one hundred and thirty degrees when the fuel for your generator runs out. The big Equatorial rain belts are moving northward, and they’ll be here in a couple of months. When they leave, and the cloud cover goes, the water in that pool—“he indicated the tank of steaming, insect-strewn fluid—” will damn’ nearly boil. What with the Type X Anopheles, skin cancers and the iguanas shrieking all night down below, you’ll get precious little sleep.” Closing his eyes, he added pensively: “That is, assuming that you still want any.”

      At this last remark the girl’s mouth fretted slightly. Kerans realised that the quiet ambiguity in Riggs’ voice when he asked how the biologist slept had not been directed at his relationship with Beatrice.

      The Colonel went on: “In addition, some of the human scavengers driven northward out of the Mediterranean lagoons won’t be too easy to deal with.”

      Beatrice tossed her long black hair over one shoulder. “I’ll keep the door locked, Colonel.”

      Irritated, Kerans snapped: “For God’s sake, Beatrice, what are you trying to prove? These self-destructive impulses may be amusing to play with now, but when we’ve gone they won’t be so funny. The Colonel’s only trying to help you—he doesn’t really give a hoot whether you stay behind or not.”

      Riggs let out a brief laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. But if the thought of my personal concern worries you so much you can just put it down to duty.”

      “That’s interesting, Colonel. I’ve always understood that our duty was to stay on here as long as possible and make every sacrifice necessary to that end. Or at least”—here the familiar gleam of sharp humour crossed her eyes—“that was the reason my grandfather was given when the Government confiscated most of his property.” She noticed Riggs peering over his shoulder at the bar. “What’s the matter, Colonel? Looking for your punka-wallah? I’m not going to get you a drink, if that’s what you’re after. I think you men only come up here to booze.”

      Riggs stood up. “All right, Miss Dahl. I give in. I’ll see you later, Doctor.” He saluted Beatrice with a smile. “Some time tomorrow I’ll send the cutter over to collect your gear, Miss Dahl.”