The Godson (14 page)

The whole place reeked of spacious, opulent comfort. Indirect lighting bathed the walls and sunlight streamed down from the skylights high in the ceiling above onto the dozens of lush indoor plants. The decor was mainly soft blue and grey with touches of pink, except for the colourful patterns on the cane lounges placed around the walls, and the pastel tones of the murals and paintings hung above them. From the metal poles supporting the skylights hung swarms of beautifully painted
balsawood parrots which scarcely moved in the air conditioned stillness. Les and Peregrine hardly had time to exchange approving glances before they were almost swamped by politely efficient staff in blue uniforms, the men in sweatshirts, the women in neat skirts and tops, all with a blue and gold penguin motif on the front.

Naturally enough Peregrine wanted the best rooms the resort had to offer. Unfortunately the ultra swish had been taken by a German industrialist and his entourage and a team of Texan zillionaires. Then Les remembered why he was there and who he was with and insisted on adjoining rooms. The management was expecting a convention in the following day and the only two adjoining rooms were two standard ones on the sixth floor; one floor above the front desk.

‘That will do admirably,' said Les.

They signed the register then the staff picked up their bags and just about bore them into the lift and up to rooms 219 and 220 which were on an open hallway almost overlooking the front desk.

‘Why don't we throw our stuff inside and check the place out?' said Les. ‘Get changed later?'

‘Jolly good idea,' replied Peregrine. ‘My room's closest to the lift. Give me a tap in five minutes.'

Christ! thought Norton, after he'd thrown his bag on the Sealy posturepedic double bed. If this is a standard room, I wonder what those other ones were like? The room was large, bright and spotlessly clean, mainly blue and grey again with indoor plants and pastel-shaded murals around the beige walls. There was a colour TV, stereo, fridge and bar and behind the blue lounge the curtains swished back to where a sliding glass door opened onto a balcony giving a magnificent view of the beach and the small islands not far from the shore. Christ! thought Norton again, smiling to himself and pleased that Peregrine had found the place. I reckon we ought to spend the two weeks here. Then again he remembered why they were there. No, he sighed, one bloody night's gonna have to do. Five minutes later he and Peregrine were in the lift heading for the third floor.

They strolled along a wide corridor to another lift with a glass back which took them to the first floor and what seemed to be a solarium. The huge room was thick with lush plants and spaced with more comfortable cane lounges and chairs. Flocks of parrots hung suspended in the air and the whole area was bathed in the sunlight coming through an almost
completely glass ceiling. A small indoor pool meandered around the blue-grey carpet and mauve walls to the sepia-toned tiles which led to the bistro and main dining room. After a quick check of the menu and wine list, Les and Peregrine strolled out to the pool area.

Neither man had to say anything as they followed the white scalloped pathway to the pool; the surroundings did it for them. An explosion of coloured flowers and tropical trees burst from more meticulous landscaping. A tiny stream bubbled through the rockeries and beneath wooden bridges to momentarily stop in a pool full of lilies and brightly-coloured carp. An attendant who was feeding the fish smiled and said hello as they walked past. Les opened a gate and they stepped through to where the sun was sparkling on a massive, irregular, man-made lagoon edged in parts with volcanic rock. Pink umbrellas and white banana-chairs surrounded the pool, the outdoor jacuzzi and the childrens' pool and playing area. Through the glass fence behind the pool they could see the blue waves crashing and hissing across the sand and they spotted the islands they had seen from their balconies. They strolled around the pool to the glassed-in spa-bath which joined the gymnasium. There didn't appear to be many people around — a dozen or so on the banana-chairs and one or two couples enjoying the heated pool. The only others were the blue uniformed staff who seemed to be forever sweeping, wiping or cleaning something.

‘Well, what do you reckon, Pezz?' smiled Norton. ‘Looks like something out of a James Bond movie, don't it?'

Peregrine the aristocrat couldn't help but agree. ‘Simply marvellous. I also noticed the prices when we booked in; it's not at all expensive. Anything comparable to this in Europe, if you could find it, would cost you a fortune. Not that that would worry me at all, Les,' he added with a grin. ‘I happen to have several.'

‘Yes, so I believe,' chuckled Norton. ‘So what do you want to do — seeing as you're our guest in this fine country?'

‘Do?' Peregrine walked over to Les and actually placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. ‘Well, I think the gentlemanly thing to do would be to get changed into something a little more appropriate for the occasion, dear boy, and spend what's left of the afternoon sitting by the edge of the pool sipping the best cocktails the establishment has to offer.'

‘Peregrine,' winked Les. ‘I think that is an absolutely splendid idea. Quite gentlemanly indeed.'

Twenty minutes later they had changed and were placing
their towels on two banana-chairs closest to a sign which said Ring For Service.

Norton had to suppress a bit of a chuckle as Peregrine set himself up at the pool's edge. It wasn't his complexion or build — for a to-and-from he wasn't chalky white and he was more wiry than skinny — it was the outfit. Les just had on thongs, shorts and a Mexican beer T-shirt Warren had given him, but Peregrine did frock up for the occasion. He had on a jade Pierre Cardin bathrobe and matching Gucci shorts, black Italian leather sandals, and a Yves St. Laurent sling wallet and sunglasses. This outfit was topped by a small white Panama. If Noel Coward could see this, he'd roll over in his grave, thought Les. But Peregrine was completely oblivious and so, it seemed, were the others seated around the pool.

‘Well come on, old boy,' he said, moving to the side of the pool. ‘Last one in's a rotten egg.' Then he dived in. He surfaced a few metres out and began swimming towards the middle with the worst style Norton had ever seen. His arms flayed madly at the water as his head swung from side to side and he made hardly any progress. He stopped and turned to Les.

‘What's it like?' Norton called out.

‘Absolutely marvellous, old boy.'

‘Yeah? You sure?' Norton's tongue was planted firmly in his cheek.

‘Of course. Come along! Don't be such a slacker. Ho! Here we go.' The Englishman duck-dived to the bottom of the pool while Norton watched laughing to himself. Peregrine was like a little child having the time of his life and thinking he was killing them. Les watched him for a little while then he dived in. Norton would never make the East German swimming team but he managed to get to the other side of the pool and back in about the same time it took Peregrine to make it from halfway.

‘Yeah, it's not too bad, I suppose,' he said, holding the edge of the pool with one hand.

‘Oh, come on now, Les. Where's your sense of adventure? This is absolutely beautiful. You know, I don't think you're as tough as you make out.' Flushed with his own wellbeing, Peregrine dragged himself out of the pool. ‘Anyway, that's enough exercise for the day, I think. Time now for drinkypoos.'

‘Yeah. Not a bad idea. I'm just about buggered myself after all that.' And wait till I get you out on this farm, Horatio Hornblower. I'll give you sense of adventure.

They towelled off and Peregrine ordered drinks: Fourex for Les, a nice long whisky sour for himself. These arrived promptly and Peregrine immediately ordered two more. And that was how they spent the afternoon, except that after his third whisky sour Peregrine switched to Tom Collins. By then it was getting on for five and the sun was starting to go down over the mountains and banana fields surrounding the resort. Les asked Peregrine what he wanted to do that night. Peregrine suggested dinner in the resort restaurant around seven-thirty then a trip into Coffs Harbour later that night. Norton replied that that didn't sound like a bad idea at all.

‘But do we have to wait till half past seven before we eat?'

Peregrine gave Norton a look of disdain across the top of his Tom Collins. ‘My dear boy — a gentleman never dines before seven.'

‘What about a bloody hamburger?

Peregrine shook his head and finished his drink. ‘Shall we leave?' he sniffed.

Norton spent the next couple of hours reading a magazine, getting changed, drinking one or two beers from his fridge and not doing a great deal at all except stand on his balcony and think how lucky he was to be there. At seven-thirty sharp he was in a clean pair of jeans and a brown Le Shirt knocking on Peregrine's door.

‘Sorry I'm late, old chap,' said Peregrine, razor in one hand, shaving cream all over his face. ‘I was reading a book and dozed off. Shan't be a tick.'

‘That's all right, mate. Take your time.' Les closed the door. ‘You had a shower yet?'

‘Yes. Had a quick one about five minutes ago.'

‘Yeah. I heard you poms are pretty quick when it comes to having a shower. I'm surprised you had one at all.'

‘What was that, old boy?' came from the bathroom.

‘Nothing, mate. Nothing at all.'

While Peregrine finished shaving, Les had a bit of a quick check of his clothes; there wasn't a real lot but what there was was top quality. He also made a mental note: 82 cm waist, size 8 shoes. Next to the bed were two books by Charles Bukowski:
Women
and
War All The Time
. There was also a small book of Shakespearean sonnets. He had a quick read and replaced them.

‘So, how are you feeling?' he asked as Peregrine came from the bathroom.

‘Absolutely first class. How about yourself?'

‘Good. But I'm bloody hungry. I'd eat the maggoty arse out of a dead bandicoot.'

‘Yes… well I don't know that I'm that hungry but I am rather peckish.' Before long Peregrine was in a pair of tan velvet trousers, cream silk shirt and a matching cravat. On Les it would have looked poncey. On Peregrine it looked as it should. Aristocratic.

‘You ready, old boy?' he smiled.

‘Reckon,' replied Les, rising from the lounge. ‘Let's hit the toe.'

They took the lift to the restaurant.

The restaurant was tastefully furnished in blue and white and overlooked the pool area and the beach beyond. The bar area was to the left and in between sat a young bearded piano player in a tuxedo tinkling out the theme from
The Godfather
on a baby grand. He smiled around the room in his white tuxedo as his hands moved gracefully across the keys — it looked like something out of an old Humphrey Bogart movie. The restaurant was fairly large and appeared to be about half full. You couldn't miss the Texans and their wives down one end next to the windows. The women all had two hundred dollar hairdos, horrible loud dresses and enough jewellery to embarrass Marie Antoinette. The men wore customary calflength boots, arrow-pocketed jackets and trousers and string ties with turquoise toggles. Not far away sat the Germans, all stiff and conservative, eating almost in unison. Sitting there straight-backed, silent and Teutonic, they looked as if they would all jump up from the table, click their heels and give a Nazi salute if someone had yelled out ‘achtung'. Around them were families, couples and a girl of about twenty-eight with two other girls who were about eighteen. From behind a desk materialised the head waiter in a tuxedo.

‘For two, is it, sir?' he said to Peregrine.

‘Yes thank you.'

‘Anywhere in particular you might wish to sit, gentlemen?'

Peregrine nodded to a cubicle next to the wall. ‘Just there should do.'

‘Certainly, sir.'

The head waiter ushered them to their table, placed the wine list and menus in front of them and vanished. As they studied the menu, the voices of the Texans carried across the room. Peregrine turned towards them momentarily then turned to Les.

‘Do you know why American tourists talk so loud, Les?'
he asked. Norton shook his head. ‘So they can hear themselves over their clothes.'

Norton gave a bit of a chuckle. ‘Anyway, this food looks all right.'

‘Yes, it certainly does. Have you made up your mind yet?'

‘Yes,' nodded Norton. ‘I'm going to have the Triton seafood cocktail in light raspberry sauce for starters. And … the lobster nouvelle with brandy cream and vegetables Julienne for the main. What about you, Pezz?'

Peregrine gave the menu one of those looks of grudging approval. ‘Well, I might have the smoked goose Riverina with red currant and port wine sauce for an entree. And the Danish fillet of beef with blue vein cheese and port wine sauce again for the main. For dessert? I'll see how I feel after this.'

‘Yeah, me too. What about wine?'

Peregrine looked at Les impassively. ‘Les, please. I only ever drink French champagne.'

‘You seen how much it is a bottle?'

‘Yes, I noticed. And if I drink ten bottles a day for the next fifty years I still wouldn't make a dent in twelve months' interest.'

Norton studied the Englishman for a moment. ‘Just how much money have you got?'

Peregrine shrugged. ‘About twenty-four million.'

‘Twenty-four million bucks! Shit!'

‘Twenty-four million
pounds
, Les.'

‘Pounds! Christ! That's about fifty million bucks. Fuckin' hell. What's it like to have fifty million dollars?'

Peregrine shrugged again. ‘Hasn't everybody got fifty million dollars?'

Norton shook his head and they ordered. And for the next half hour or so they ate the most beautiful food imagineable and drank '71 Dom Perignon at $190 a bottle.