FLIGHT OF THE SEASWAN + DIAMOND'S DELIGHT

Episode 25 in the Lymp Duhdashian series

“A new edition of Dr John Coleman's book The Committee of 300 has been printed in the wake of the destruction of the Georgia Guidestones. Maybe more people will read it this time….” said Khan grimly, passing Olympia’s iPhone back to her.

Olympia squinted in the blazing sun as her charter yacht sped through the Caribbean Sea towards Venezuela. She read the article that was on the screen and realised that this was referring to one of the primary sources of information which Khan had first mentioned to her when he had explained the significance of her name.

The Committee of 300 prefer to call themselves The Olympians. By the time she had finished reading the article, she was wondering, once again, just who her parents really were and how they had made their considerable fortune. It was ridiculous that neither she, nor her younger sister Diamond, had the remotest clue about their parent’s business interests.

Olympia felt sure that her name was a reference to their link to the Committee of 300 and surmised that Diamond’s name had also been chosen to reflect the source of their wealth. She had suggested this theory to Khan and he had agreed that patterns like that are good clues, but the only people who could confirm her suspicions would be the stockbrokers, accountants and barristers who formed the team managing her financial affairs. She wished she had paid more attention in the past, even been a little more curious, but also remembered being fobbed off so frequently that she had given up asking. As long as her allowances were generous, she had never needed to know. That is until her mother had died so unexpectedly only two months ago.

Getting back to the UK was as much a priority for her as it was for the Captain.

Khan and the Captain were as thick as thieves lately. Constantly shut up in the wheelhouse, deep in conversation, they were often seen plotting the navigation course and consulting the yacht’s computer for news from Venezuela. They estimated their time of arrival at Puerto La Cruz to be dawn the following day and were planning to anchor offshore and at least 20 miles further down the coast. The Captain then intended to go ashore, avoiding all authorities and make his way to the small private marina where the SeaSwan was stored. If his luck held, he would pay all outstanding fees and set sail to rejoin the charter yacht as soon as possible.

When Puerto La Cruz came into sight at first light, the Captain steered his vessel to a small bay located on one of the seven Islas Chimanas which lie a few kilometres from the huge oil terminals and port city. He disembarked to the motor tender with two crew members and sped away, leaving the charter yacht occupants to keep up the appearance of touring Mochima National Park.

His plan went very smoothly and the motor tender returned to the charter yacht without him before breakfast was served. The crew was buzzing with excitement. They were going to pilot their vessel back to Miami as soon as the Captain was able to bring his ketch alongside. For them, this scheme guaranteed that they would be home for Christmas. The First Mate was especially excited because, as he would carry the Captain’s formal resignation letter, it stood to reason that he would be the obvious choice for the ensuing vacancy on this wonderful charter yacht. He was keeping a close watch on the horizon for the SeaSwan to approach.

Khan and Olympia were packing up their personal effects, which amounted to two bulging suitcases of swimwear and dresses plus a very few items of clothing that Khan had acquired for decency purposes when they were partying in Guadeloupe. Khan’s fish-skin swim wear and tool belt was carefully wrapped up in a large t-shirt bearing the Rhum du Route logo, a keepsake he had found floating in the oily Pointe-à-Pitre marina.

Around midday the crew member on watch shrieked “Ship Ahoy!” and everyone raced to the deck to witness the SeaSwan at full sail, swing elegantly around the entrance to the bay where they were anchored. They admired their Captain as he manoeuvred his beloved yacht until he was alongside and dropping his anchor. He was wearing the widest grin they had ever seen on his face.

Without a moment of hesitation Khan and Olympia transferred themselves, and their few belongings to the ketch cabin while the Captain gathered his knapsack, charts, binoculars and personal toolkit from his small cabin. He didn’t look back as he closed the door. Chef insisted upon passing across a large hamper of prepared meals and a couple of crates of beer along with a large bag of essentials for coffee, breakfasts and cleaning. He had thought of everything.
Olympia was enchanted. “Oh, this is simply adorable!” she cooed, running her hand over the dusty surfaces within. Khan was astonished to see her simply dump her suitcases and set about cleaning and tidying as if this were the best home she had ever seen since her dolls house at age seven!

The charter yacht weighed anchor and, amid much yelling and hooting, she slowly left the big bay and headed out of Venezuelan waters, with Khan and Olympia waving wildly until she was out of sight.

The Captain apologised for the state of the interior until he actually went in there. He looked confused for a moment. “Did you do this?” he asked Olympia, who was sweeping her unkempt hair out of her eyes and preparing coffee. She giggled like a schoolgirl, “What? You think I have never cleaned anything in my spoiled little life, do you? I will have you know that Roedean girls have to do their own cleaning in the dorms. We are not just pretty faces, you know!”

Khan grinned and popped a couple of cans of beer onto the table as Olympia plonked herself down on a stool to enjoy her coffee. “Where are we going first, Cap’n?” Khan asked the Captain, handing him a beer.

“You can call me Dave, Sir…. I mean Khan…. I want to stay at anchor here, until I have completed all my checks. It won’t take me long, she was well covered and protected from the weather at the marina, but there is some important routine maintenance…. I am sure you understand.” Khan was keen to learn the ropes of a three sailed vessel and said so. Dave was glad of the interest. This elegant ketch was the only woman in his life. He had hated to be parted from her for so long. Now he felt complete and his customary frown no longer blighted his appearance.
He looked 10 years younger, just for being aboard.

—0—

Diamond and Fanny were attempting a short walk in Kensington Park. It was particularly cold, but that was a good thing because it kept prying eyes away. Most people were scurrying past without even looking at the two ladies walking very slowly, bundled up in hats and scarves. “You are doing GREAT!” encouraged Fanny and Dim unclenched her jaw long enough to smile a little. She had to be fit by Friday for the photoshoot with Tarky, she was not prepared to postpone, no matter what. Pru had been promised a front page spot in the Christmas edition of Harper’s Bizarre and Diamond had already consulted with designer, Vivid Wastedwood, for the most striking ensemble imaginable.

“When we get home I will French polish your nails.” Fanny had said and Dim wondered how she had ever managed without this superwoman personal assistant. Fanny was making herself utterly indispensable in so many ways. She had cheerfully replaced the housekeeper who had needed a few days off. She had cooked the most sumptuous keto meals and done all the shopping without a word of complaint.

Diamond was weaning herself off the painkillers and had begun to notice a few minor details about Fanny. Wordlessly, she observed a slight bump in Fanny’s groin outline and that same day, she noticed that Fanny’s usual roll neck sweater had slipped down just enough to reveal a pronounced Adam’s apple. She had also been a little surprised by the size of Fanny’s shoes.

As soon as the manicure kit came out of Fanny’s handbag, Diamond Duhdashian knew for certain that Fanny did not actually have a fanny. The kit was encased in beautiful embossed black leather with a soft green leather interior. The genuine French polishing buffer was a four sided black firm sponge covered in three grades of superfine sandpaper and accompanied by a soft waxy white long tipped pencil, carefully sharpened to a point. This was a man’s very expensive manicure kit.

“Are you transgender, Fanny? Or just transvestite?” asked Dim without a glimmer of embarrassment. In fact, there was an irrepressible and mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she watched Fanny freeze with shock, emery board in hand.

“I am neither, Madam” came the response, minus eye contact and there followed a prolonged silence while Diamond recollected the help she had received to get into the bath. The many applications of Fanny’s special honey salve and the gentle massages which had sent her to sleep each night.

“Would you care to explain?” Dim suggested and Fanny sat back in the armchair and looked at her without guile.

“I am a man - in love with a gorgeous Diamond” came the totally candid reply.