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.’
It was only when she stood up that I realised just how small she was – not more than five feet three or four. She was wearing an expensive tweed suit, nylon stockings and flat-heeled pigskin shoes.
‘One more thing,’ I said. ‘You’re dressed just fine for those long country weekends, but you’ll need something different for where we’re going.’
‘Rugged country?’ she said. ‘Well that should make a change. So far I’ve found the whole thing just a little disappointing.’
‘They don’t wear sealskin trousers any more if they can help it,’ I said, ‘and a whaleboat with a diesel motor is a damned sight handier in rough weather than a kayak, but if it’s the rough outdoors you want, I think Disko should satisfy you.’
‘I can’t wait,’ she said dryly. ‘Where can I change?’
‘Use my room if you like. It’s on the first floor – twenty-one. I’ll finish here, then I’ve a few things to see to. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.’
She went out through the archway and spoke to the porter who hurried round to pick up the suitcase she selected from the stack that stood against the wall, and she followed him across the hall to the stairs. At that distance there was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t pin it down.
She walked well, with a sort of general and total movement of the whole body and in one very quick movement, I wondered what she would be like in bed. But that would have been Arnie’s reaction. He probably already had his campaign mapped out.
Suddenly angry with myself, I turned back to my steak, but it was already cold and I pushed it away and helped myself to coffee.
I think it was General Grant who said: War is hell. He should have added that women are worse. I sipped my coffee and stared out across the wide street towards the harbour where the Otter glinted scarlet and silver in the sunlight, but all I kept getting was a disturbing vision of Ilana Eytan crossing the hall and her damned skirt tightening as she mounted the stairs. It had been a long time since a woman bothered me as positively as that.
I borrowed the hotel Land-Rover and drove down to the harbour, mainly to get the met report from the harbourmaster’s office. I’d refuelled the Otter on flying in the night before so there was nothing to do there and at a crate of Scotch per week, Desforge had become such a valued customer of the Royal Greenland Trading Company that their local agent had supervised the loading of his supplies himself.
I drove back to the hotel and went upstairs. When I went into the bedroom there was no sign of the girl, but I could hear the shower going full blast so I went into the dressing room and started to change.
I was as far as my flying boots when the outside door opened and someone entered. As I got to my feet, Arnie called my name and I moved to the door. I was too late. By the time I reached the bedroom, he was already entering the bathroom. He backed out hurriedly and Ilana Eytan appeared a moment later swathed in a large white bath towel.
‘I don’t know what’s supposed to be going on,’ she said. ‘But would you kindly send Little Boy Blue here about his business.’
Arnie stood there speechless and she shut the door in his face. I tapped him on the shoulder. ‘On your way, Arnie.’
‘What a woman,’ he whispered. ‘My God, Joe, her breasts, her thighs – such perfection. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Yes you have,’ I said. ‘About three thousand and forty-seven times.’ I pushed him out into the corridor and slammed the door.
I returned to the dressing room and pulled on a sweater and an old green kapok-filled parka with a fur-lined hood. When I went back into the bedroom Ilana Eytan was standing in front of the dressing table mirror combing her hair. She was wearing ski pants, cossack boots and a heavy Norwegian sweater.
‘Arnie thought it was me in there,’ I said. ‘He didn’t mean any harm.’
‘They never do.’
There was a hip-length sheepskin jacket on the bed beside the open suitcase and as she picked it up and pulled it on, I once again had that strange feeling of familiarity.
‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ I said, and then the obvious possibility occurred to me. ‘In pictures maybe?’
She buttoned up the jacket, examined herself carefully in the mirror and put the comb to her hair again. ‘I’ve made a couple.’
‘With Jack?’ And then I remembered. ‘Now I’ve got it. You played the Algerian girl in that last film of his. The film about gun-running.’
‘Go to the head of the class,’