East of Desolation

He was about my height, which was a little under six feet, but the resemblance stopped there. My hair was dark, his so fair as to be almost white, his face open, mine closed and saturnine. As yet he had not been used by life or at least had been used kindly and his forehead was as unlined as any child’s. By birth an Icelander, he had perhaps the most incredible appetite for women that I have ever encountered, and like all Don Juans he was an incurable romantic, falling in and out of love with astounding frequency.

He presented a slightly theatrical figure in his fur-lined boots and old flying jacket and he tossed a canvas holdall into the corner and moved to the table.

‘I thought you might have left. I’ve probably broken all records from Søndre Strømfjord to get here.’

‘Any particular reason?’

He helped himself to tea using my cup. ‘You’re flying supplies out to that American film actor aren’t you?’

He was referring to Jack Desforge, who’d arrived unexpectedly in Godthaab early in June in his motor yacht Stella. Since then he’d been cruising the coast fishing and hunting and I’d been flying out supplies to wherever he was at regular intervals.

‘Why the interest?’

‘I’ve got a passenger for you. She got off the midnight jet from Copenhagen at Søndre. Wanted me to take her straight to Desforge, but I couldn’t oblige. Have to be at Malamusk by noon with some spare parts they’ve had specially flown in from the States. Where is he, by the way?’

‘Somewhere north of Disko in the region of Narquassit as I last heard; looking for polar bear.’

There was genuine astonishment on his face. ‘At this time of the year. You must be joking.’

‘About the only thing outside of a Tibetan yak that he’s never laid low. You never know, he could hit lucky. I’ve seen bear up there myself in August before now.’

‘But not often, my friend. I wish him luck.’

‘This girl – what’s her name?’

‘Eytan – Ilana Eytan.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Israeli?’

‘I would have said English.’ He grinned. ‘Not that it matters – in any language she’s a lot of woman.’

‘Good looking?’

He shook his head. ‘Ugly as sin and it doesn’t matter a damn.’

‘A rare combination. I look forward to meeting her.’

‘She’s having breakfast downstairs.’

The door opened and Gudrid entered as I knew she would, her excuse the clean sheets she carried. Arnie swung round and advanced on her.

‘Gudrid – sweetheart.’

She side-stepped him neatly and dropped the sheets on the bed. ‘You can cut that out for a start.’

He unzipped one of the pockets of his flying jacket and took out a roll of notes. ‘I got paid, angel. A thousand dollars on account. Where would we be without our American friends?’

‘And how much of that will go across the card table at the Fredericsmut?’ she said acidly.

He peeled off two hundred dollar bills and held out the rest of the money. ‘Save me from myself, Gudrid. Be my banker like always.’

‘What would be the point? You’ll want it back again tomorrow.’

He grinned. ‘Put it in the bank then, in your name. Just so I can’t get at it. I trust you.’

And as usual, she was putty in his hands. ‘If you’re sure you want me to.’

‘Would I ask if I didn’t?’ He patted her on the bottom. ‘I’d better come and see where you do put it, just in case you get knocked down in the street or anything.’

I didn’t need the wink he gave me over his shoulder as they went out to tell me what that meant. Poor Gudrid. Always on hand to keep him occupied in between affairs, never facing up to the hopelessness of the situation from her point of view. And yet in his own selfish way he had a genuine affection for her, and she did act as his banker on occasion, which was probably the only reason he had any money at all.

But I had enough problems of my own without worrying too much about other people’s and I finished dressing quickly and went downstairs.

As was only to be expected at that time in the morning, the restaurant was empty except for the girl sitting at a table in the bow window drinking coffee and looking out into the street. I could see at once what Arnie had meant, but he was wrong about one thing – she wasn’t beautiful, not in any conventional sense, but she was far from ugly.

She had a strong Jewish face, if one can use that term these days without being called a racialist – a proud face with strong lines that might have been carved from stone. Full red lips, high cheekbones, hooded eyes – a face that was unashamedly sensual and the straight black hair that hung shoulder-length in a dark curtain was perfectly in keeping. No Ruth in any cornfield this, but a fierce proud little queen. An Esther perhaps or even a Jezebel.

She looked up as I approached, her face calm, the dark eyes giving nothing away. I paused, hands in pockets.

‘Miss Eytan? Joe Martin. I understand you want to see Jack Desforge. Mind if I ask why?’

She looked faintly surprised. ‘Does it matter?’

‘It might to him.’

I sat down opposite her and waved to the waiter in the kitchen entrance who immediately produced a whale steak from the hotplate and brought it across.

‘Are you his keeper or something?’ she said without the slightest touch of rancour in her voice.

‘Let’s put it this way. Jack has a great big sign out that says: Don’t disturb. I fly supplies to the Stella once a week and he not only pays me double – he pays me cash. Now I just love that kind of arrangement and I’d hate to see anything spoil it.’

‘Would it make any difference if I told you we were old friends?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Somehow I thought you might say that.’ She opened her handbag and took out a wallet that was surprisingly masculine in appearance. ‘How much do you charge to make the sort of flight you’re doing this morning?’

‘Five hundred krone.’

‘What’s that American?’

‘Call it a hundred and fifty dollars.’

She extracted three notes and flipped them across the table. ‘Three hundred. That means I’ve paid in advance for the round trip if he doesn’t want me to stay – satisfied?’

‘Considering that I’ll be getting paid twice, how could I be otherwise?’ I took out my wallet and put the notes away carefully. ‘We leave in forty minutes. The flight should take just over two hours if the wind is right.’

‘That’s fine by me.’