High Water (1959) (3 page)

The grinding roar of countless cars and buses merged into one sullen symphony, and as the morning sunlight filtered through the churned-up clouds of exhaust smoke and the dust from the bone-dry pavements, the air seemed to be drawn from the glittering and noisy valleys between the opulent and colourful shop windows, and Vivian felt the overpowering desire to return at once to the comparative coolness of his room. He strode slowly down the shady side of Regent Street, glancing only perfunctorily at the busy stores, and allowing his active mind to work busily on Lang’s offer of the previous evening. He did not doubt for one second that the reason for the trip was as Lang had said, but inwardly he felt that he was being offered a form of charity, for old time’s sake, and that Lang was probably wrapping the whole thing up in a mesh of mystery, merely to sweeten the pill. He frowned, and glanced up angrily at the street numbers, to ensure that he was still walking in the right direction. Then he saw it, an impressive, double-windowed frontage, tastefully decorated with two of the magnificent travel posters, and a selection of carefully draped fishing-nets, imitation seaweed, and the more usual type of holiday literature.

Through the window he could see several girls busily engaged answering queries from behind a long counter, and he could count at least three glass-fronted doors opening off the main office. It was, as he had always imagined, a most prosperous concern, and it seemed almost laughable that a business of this nature should be hamstrung by foreign currency problems. Anyway, he decided, I can always pay the money back out of the boat’s earnings next year. It was
perhaps
typical of him that he should make such a decision so lightly, which might concern his future. At that moment, the present seemed rather more important.

He thrust his way through the doors, his mind made up, and stood impatiently at the counter.

‘Well, sir, what can I do for you?’ A smartly dressed assistant was watching him with interest.

Vivian thought, old Felix certainly has picked a smart bunch of girls, he’s learnt how to dress his window all right.

‘Er, I have an appointment with Mr. Lang.’

‘Oh yes, sir. Mr. Vivian isn’t it? We’re expecting you.’

Oh we are, are we, mused Vivian, as with a flash of nyloned legs she hurried through one of the office doors. He realized then, that up to that point he had been wondering if half Lang had told him had been bluff, but now, as the girl reappeared, and ushered him into the spacious, well-carpeted office, with all the deference of a well-trained slave, he knew that this part of the story at least was genuine.

Lang stood up jauntily, and waved him to a red leather chair, then having settled himself with a cigarette from an ornate, carved box on his wide desk, he sat back, and folded his small hands across his stomach, his head on one side, as he stared quizzically through the smoke, like a well-fed sparrow, thought Vivian.

‘Well, old boy, have you come to report for work?’

‘When do you want me to start?’ His voice sounded flat, so he forced a smile, and added: ‘I should thank you, I know. I really am more grateful than you realize.’

Lang waved expansively. ‘Nuts! My job here is to make sure the whole set-up works, that’s all, and frankly, I think you’ll want to do business with us again. After all, I don’t suppose you want a whole mob of awkward landlubbers trampling all over your beautiful boat, doing enough damage to take the edge off whatever profit you might have
made,
eh?’ He grinned knowingly, as Vivian grimaced. ‘Ah, I thought not, you always were a pusser-built bastard; well, we deal with very small parties, and more often than not we send our skippers a single customer. You know, the rich type who “just wants to get away from it all”.’

He laughed heartily, as if the whole thing was a huge joke.

‘’Course, you might have to turn a blind eye if he wants you to take his secretary along too, if you follow me.’

He slid open a small drawer in the desk, and tossed a fat envelope across into Vivian’s lap.

‘There you are, seven hundred, in fivers. Okay?’

Vivian fumbled with the packet, feeling awkward and confused.

‘Hell, man, it’s like a miracle!’ he exploded. He weighed it in his hand. ‘Feels like one too!’

Lang grinned. ‘It’s all there anyway, I counted it myself. I’m sorry it has to be in cash, but it does ease the complications a bit.’

Vivian raised his eyebrows. ‘How come?’

‘Well, you know how it is, old boy, we make out our accounts quarterly, and as I don’t want anyone to know you’re working for me yet, I think it’s better this way.’

‘What you really mean is, that if I’m stupid enough to get nicked by the Customs going over, you don’t want it known that I’m tied in with you, right?’

Lang laughed. ‘You catch on fast, Philip, that is exactly it. You take the risk for me, and I pay you for it.’ He leaned back, studying the other’s face thoughtfully.

‘How d’you know I wouldn’t squeal on you to clear myself?’

‘You ask yourself that, old boy,’ laughed Lang. ‘Would you turn me in, even if you could prove it, that is?’

‘No, I wouldn’t like anyone to know that the Europa
Agency
has to finance its employees abroad to keep them in gin and skittles!’

Lang suddenly became serious. ‘Well look, my man Cooper will be coming aboard your boat tomorrow. He’s already at Torquay, as a matter of fact. I ’phoned him last night, and told him to take his gear down to your boat.’

‘You
were
sure of me!’ said Vivian dryly.

‘I had to be. The chap I used to have doing my special trips, he was bloody useless, so now perhaps you can understand why I was so excited when I ran into you yesterday? It was a bloody miracle, I can tell you.’ He opened his eyes wide. ‘Would you believe it, I paid him the earth, got him a lot of jobs, and he tried to blackmail me!’

‘What was his name?’ queried Vivian. ‘Was he one of the old naval crowd?’

‘Oh, God, no! Why, Nick Patterson hadn’t been anything before I gave him a job. I must have been mad in those days. Still, we got it all straightened out, and got rid of him somehow, though I believe his boat’s still about the South Coast somewhere.’

Vivian stood up. ‘I must be off. I take it this Cooper chap will tell me my destination when I see him?’

‘Oh no, I can tell you now, it’s quite straightforward, you’re to go to Calais.’ He hurried on. ‘I happen to know that there’s a big rally of British yachts there all this week, so you won’t be noticed in the confusion. Cooper will be an official passenger of yours, but you can take the cash ashore. It’s quite simple really, but he’ll explain it all to you.’

They shook hands, and the next instant Vivian’s feet were taking him rapidly through the crowded streets towards the broker’s offices. He felt quite light-headed, and his humour was so buoyant, that he felt a little sorry for the firm’s secretary, as she wrote him out a hurried receipt.

Mr. Grandison, the manager, seemed more than a little
shaken
by the sight of so much money, and cunningly tried to question him, but Vivian, after a session with Lang’s quick-witted bantering, was more than a match for him.

With the receipt in his pocket, and the humble promises that the official Bill of Sale, and other papers, would be sent on to him immediately, still ringing in his ears, he started his journey back to the sea.

Vivian was giving the decks of
Seafox
a wash down the following day when, glancing up, he saw a man standing on the very edge of the wall, watching him.

‘Good morning. Mr. Cooper, isn’t it?’

The man nodded, and turned towards the steps.

‘Here’s yore passenger, then,’ said Arthur hoarsely.

Vivian nodded vaguely. He had noticed that the dapper, little man in the smart blazer and white flannels was carrying two very large cases. Those, in addition to the two he had found already parked in the saloon by Arthur, made the venture seem a little more peculiar.

The man stepped lightly on to the deck, his pointed, two-toned shoes striking an incongruous note against the nautical background. He removed his panama hat, which had been shading his narrow, rather swarthy face, and offered him a well-manicured hand in a moist, lingering handshake. As near as he could tell, Cooper was about forty, with receding hair, and a pair of dark, almost black, eyes, which, set close together beneath thick brows, were the most vital part of his otherwise too-smart personality. Even his sharp-ended bow tie, and the silk shirt, gave the impression that Mr. Cooper had not always been in the money.

He handed the bags to Arthur, and said curtly, ‘Please
take
these below.’ And as the old man shambled away, he flashed a well-trained smile, and Vivian caught the faint smell of whisky. ‘I think we can get under way now, Captain, and I’ll go below and unpack. You can get rid of the old man, I think.’ Even his voice was carefully pitched, and was devoid of any accent.

Ten minutes later, as the twin diesels throbbed confidently, and the boat tugged impatiently at the two remaining shore-lines, old Arthur stepped ashore, with Coley tucked under his arm. The cat always had resented being left ashore when Vivian made trips over to the other side, but now his resentment seemed to have mellowed, as if he realized that the boat which was his home was safely paid for.

Vivian ruffled the black fur, and grinned at Arthur. ‘I’ll be back in about five days, old-timer, so long for now.’

The old man paused, as if to say something, then, with a wrinkled smile, he let go the mooring lines, and eased the yacht away from the jetty with his foot.

The grey, sun-dappled walls, with the rows of watching faces, the white boats, and the tripper launches, all slid by, and as he stood in the cool wheelhouse, his legs astride, and the wheel firmly held in his hands, he felt his heart rise with the boat, as she pushed her slim stem into the first small roller.

An hour later, firmly planted on course, Vivian was busy with the Automatic Pilot, when he felt Cooper watching him from the saloon doorway.

‘All okay, unpacked and everything?’

Cooper didn’t answer him, he was watching the delicate machinery moving in Vivian’s grip.

‘That is a very nice little thing,’ he said at length.

Vivian nodded. ‘Essential when you sail single-handed, as I do.’

‘Your predecessor didn’t have one, you know. His boat was very old-fashioned.’

‘Oh, you knew that chap Patterson, did you?’ Vivian looked up with interest.

‘Yes, I sailed with him several times.’

‘Where is he now? Are we likely to run into him?’

‘Hardly,’ and he laughed softly. ‘He’s dead.’

‘Dead? Why? What happened?’

‘As I said, it was a very old boat, and there was a fire, I believe, rather a bad fire in fact.’

He shook with silent laughter.

‘Poor old Patterson, he did want to be such a big shot too.’

A faint, unaccountable chill crept into Vivian’s spine, and he remembered Lang laughing too, and saying, ‘We got rid of him somehow.’ He heard himself asking, ‘What sort of a chap was he?’

‘All right, but, you know, he asked too many questions.’

When Vivian turned to meet his gaze, the close-set eyes were watching him fixedly, like a shark’s, cold, and devoid of all compassion.