We heard the
whine and the thud of the wheels coming down. Ahead, the airstrip glistened
like a canal.
We made a
two-point landing in stiff wind. A disorderly array of big dripping mushrooms
was marching toward us from the airport. Behind one of the umbrellas was Mr.
Roger Tyler, the American consul. He greeted us, his shrewd friendly face full
to skin-dive?" he condoled. "It's been like this for 10 days. But this
is the worst."
ought to clear it," I said.
Mr. Tyler smiled
enigmatically. "We've got a little pool at our house...always glad to have
you use it."
When Sir Victor
Sassoon cabled me in March that he would be in London for the races all during
May and June and generously offered me the use of "Eve's," his
"little beach cottage" during my Nassau stay, I accepted with alacrity
Eve's bore no
faint resemblance to a "little cottage." Its two spacious stories of
newly poured, gleaming cement were reflected in an enormous, round, blue-tiled,
heated swimming pool. In its fluorescent-lighted, air-conditioned interior
there were an elevator, a telephone-intercom system, TVs, radio, and hi-fi
music piped into every room; there were ceiling-to-floor-tiled bathrooms, one
equipped with an electric pump which turned the tub into a whirlpool of
massaging water, and a contour vibrating chair; two kitchens gleaming with
stainless steel cabinets, electric ranges, wall ovens, deep freezes,
refrigerators, dishwashers, electric egg-boilers, rotis-series, waffle irons,
beaters, mixers, heaters, ice-makers, hot cups, hot plates and electric
blankets; movie cameras, screens and automatic slide projectors. But, as we
could see through a long series of smooth-sliding glass and chrome doors on the
sea side, it was certainly right on the beach.
the storm stopped abruptly, and dying sun brought the color of life back to the
shore's gray flanks. Hastily we got into our suits, grabbed fins and flippers
and slid back the glass doors. We ran down to the sea-wall steps and flopped
into the surf.
One happy fact
emerged: the buoyant water was deliriously warm. Cold would not be my diving
enemy as it had been in Bermuda and in the Mediterranean. We breasted the
waves, bouncing and floundering aimlessly as surface swimmers do, for almost an
hour. I tired before Louisa did. I sat on the sea wall looking at the great
Salt Curtain of the ocean's surface and thought of the world waiting there