High Water (1959) (5 page)

‘Sorry I can’t stop, but we’re very busy these days, y’know.’ He watched as his launch crept alongside. ‘Glad you had a good trip. Might see you again some time.’ And with a wave he was gone.

The
Pursuit
had sighted another yacht making for the estuary, flying the yellow flag, and made off to investigate.

Vivian snorted impatiently. What had become of his old,
devil-may-care
attitude? All these fanciful imaginings were beginning to be a little ridiculous, he decided. Damn the Customs, they always made him feel like that anyway. And with a further contemptuous glance at Cooper, who was busy filing his nails, he flung his full concentration into piloting his boat into the Thames fairway.

For the purpose of easy access to the West End of London, he eventually managed to berth his boat off Chelsea pier, and as he stood in the boat’s tiny dinghy, making sure that the mooring lines to the buoy were quite secure, he wrinkled his nose disapprovingly at the smell of mud, petrol, and coal dust, and reached up for Cooper’s suitcases.

He felt a childish surge of pleasure at the sight of two large oil smears on the white trousers.

‘Here, steady on! Don’t drop those cases in the water!’

‘Well, I’m in a hurry,’ barked Vivian. ‘I must get to your office before it closes. I want to see Felix Lang.’

They rowed to the pier in silence, and after a word with the piermaster, they eventually captured the attention of a prowling taxi, and made for Regent Street.

As Vivian had feared, the lobby of the travel bureau was deserted when they arrived, and only one girl was at the back of the counter. She looked up questioningly as the ill-assorted pair hurried in.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Lang’s gone out,’ she said quickly, looking at the little man with ill-disguised dislike.

Cooper shrugged. ‘Well that does it, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow, I guess.’

Vivian leaned across the counter, to where the girl had resumed making up her face in readiness for leaving.

‘Er, look, miss,’ he started. ‘Where can I find him? Could you let me have his private ’phone number?’

She stopped her preparations, and studied him, liking what she saw.

‘Well, if it’s all that urgent,’ she smiled, ‘I can tell you, he’s gone round to Mr. Mason’s flat for a drink.’

‘I don’t think I know Mr. Mason,’ said Vivian carefully. ‘Have you got that number here?’

‘Oh yes, Mr. Mason’s a co-director,’ said the girl airily, relieved that she was being allowed to go home at last. She scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘Here, this is it. Help yourself.’ She nodded to a telephone.

Vivian picked up the instrument, and turned to speak to Cooper. He had apparently vanished. Shrugging, he dialled the number, and impatiently tapped his fingers, wondering what he would say when Lang answered.

‘Lang speaking. Who’s that?’ The voice was brisk.

‘Hallo, Felix, it’s Phillip,’ he paused, and there was the sound of a door shutting.

‘What the devil! Where are you speaking from? Is everything all right?’

‘I’m in your office. I came back to London so that we could have a little chat,’ he let the words sink in. ‘I’m a bit worried about something.’

‘Well, don’t discuss it now, old boy, come straight round here and have a drink. Seven, Stafford Court, off Curzon Street.’ He paused, and when he spoke again, he sounded anxious. ‘But everything did go off all right, didn’t it?’

‘Yes. Too damn well for my liking, Felix. That’s why I want that little talk.’

‘Well, all right, hurry on round.’

Nodding to the girl, Vivian hurried out of the building, feeling in his pocket for a taxi fare. Lang was rattled all right. Well, we shall see, he mused.

As he waited for the chromium-plated lift in the expensive hall of Stafford Court, one of the most exclusive blocks of flats in the West End, he tried again to fit Lang into the
picture.
How big was this thing, and how long had it been going on?

The lift glided to the second floor, and he stepped into a semicircular hallway, tastefully decorated, and containing two doors. He glanced at the one bearing the card, A. Mason,
M.C.
, and pressed the bell.

Immediately, the door was opened by a tall, gaunt man in a white jacket and dark trousers, whose hair was cropped to a savage shortness, and his eyebrows were raised questioningly.

Before he could say anything however, he was brushed quickly aside, and Lang stood in his place.

‘All right, Morrie, go and see to the drinks,’ and as the strange servant moved softly away, Lang jerked his head.

‘In here, Philip,’ and he opened another door into a small anteroom. He shut the door carefully, and turned, his face unsmiling, his eyes thoughtful.

‘Well,’ he said abruptly. ‘What’s all this about trouble?’

Vivian dug his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling the familiar touch of his tobacco pouch.

‘That cargo,’ he began, and Lang stiffened. ‘It wasn’t quite what we expected. In fact, Felix, it was rather a lot of American money. Did you know about it?’ He waited, breathing hard.

Lang shrugged, and seemed to go limp. He spread his small hands helplessly.

‘How the hell did you find that out? I told you not to ask any questions.’

Vivian felt himself trembling. ‘So you did damn well know? How do you think I feel about it, eh?’ His voice was harsh.

Lang walked to the window, and stood looking down at the traffic below. When he answered, his voice was tired and dull.

‘I didn’t want you to know a thing, because I like you too well. You know that. The fact is, I’m in this so deep, I can’t help myself.’

‘You seemed to be enjoying it, the last time we met,’ said Vivian bitterly, ‘or had you forgotten?’

‘That’s just it, I
am
enjoying myself, don’t you see?’ the voice was imploring. ‘I’ve got all I ever wanted,’ he spread his hands helplessly. ‘It’s just that I’m not free, oh, it’s hopeless, I’ll never be able to explain it all to you.’

‘Well, I’m getting out of it, whatever it is, Felix. And I’m getting out right now.’

Lang laughed, it was not a nice sound.

‘You’re right, of course.’ Then, as if he had come to a sudden decision: ‘Yes, you go now. I’ll fix it somehow.’

‘But what
is
going on, Felix? What can’t you cope with any more?’

He was being cautious now, but he was curious, and anxious too. He had never seen Lang so dispirited before.

The other man looked at him intently.

‘I had an idea I might be able to get out of this business altogether, that’s why I need your help, as I’ve never needed it before.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I had the idea we might be able to glide out of this together, Philip.’

As Vivian didn’t answer, he shrugged again. ‘But I’ll not manage it on my own, that’s for sure.’

‘Look, Felix, we’ve both been in pretty tough spots before, what in hell’s name have you been up to that’s so difficult now, and why didn’t you level with me in the first place? You know I’m not likely to blow my top!’

Lang glanced quickly at the door, and unwittingly lowered his voice.

‘As far as everyone else is concerned, you know no more than what I told you before you did that trip, right?’

Vivian nodded, frowning.

‘Well, then, just come in and have a drink or two, and play the innocent, and afterwards we’ll creep over to my place, and I’ll give you the whole story.’

He looked anxiously at Vivian’s taut face. ‘What d’you say?’

‘Fair enough. You got my boat for me, Felix, and I’ve known you long enough to realize that you don’t go around imagining things. All the same, the dollars, why did it have to be dollars? And what the hell do you do with all that cash?’

There was a slight sound in the passage, and Lang shook his head gently. ‘Later, old boy,’ he whispered.

The door was flung open, and Vivian goggled at the girl who stood poised in the entrance. As he took in the short, auburn hair, the moist, almost mocking mouth, and the rich curves of her slim figure, barely concealed by a vivid, off-the-shoulder summer frock, she pouted petulantly, and glided to Lang’s side, slipping a scarlet-tipped hand through his arm.

‘Felix, darling,’ her voice was a soft purr. ‘I was getting worried about you. When are you coming back?’

Her eyes, however, never left Vivian’s face.

Lang grinned, and looked more relaxed.

‘This is my old sparring-partner, Philip Vivian, you know. I’ve told you all about him.’

She moved closer to Vivian, offering her hand.

‘You didn’t tell me he was quite so beautiful, darling.’

Vivian flushed, and over her shoulder he saw Lang wink broadly.

‘Her name’s Janice, by the way, a very special friend of mine.’ Lang was obviously getting back into form.

Vivian, unused to feminine company for so long, merely nodded dumbly, feeling vaguely uneasy at her nearness, and almost apparent animal warmth.

‘Well, come along, children,’ Lang boomed. ‘Let’s go and meet the bottles!’

The large lounge, comfortably and carefully furnished, was full of bright colours, from the gay chairs and drapes, to the many table-lamps dotted here and there around the room. A radiogram was giving forth a noisy dance tune, and records were scattered in profusion across the thick carpet. A miniature, glass-topped cocktail bar filled one corner of the room, and behind it, a tall, middle-aged, grey-haired man, with a thin, pallid face, was filling some glasses with generous portions of whisky. As the trio entered, he glanced up, and Vivian caught a certain quick watchfulness, born of long practice. The eyes were sharp and grey, like little gimlets, and with the thin-lipped mouth, gave the impression of extreme hardness.

The only other occupant of the room sat quite still in a deep armchair, and as he rose to be introduced, Vivian saw a brief spasm of pain flit across the tanned, deeply lined face. Although rather squat in build, the heaviness of his body was immediately neutralized by the softness of his features, and the delicate texture of his skin. His keen, blue eyes had a sad, gentle gaze, only marred by their heavy, hood-like lids, and his mouth, which turned sharply down at one side in a permanent grimace, gave his whole expression an air of whimsicality.

Lang ushered Vivian forward. ‘Philip Vivian, meet your new employer, Mr. Jensen.’

The long, smooth hand was surprisingly firm in his grip, and as he glanced down, he noted the fine texture of the skin, criss-crossed with tiny, blue veins. The hand of an artist. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but clear, and the Danish accent gave it a certain additional charm.

‘I am very happy to know you, Mr. Vivian. I am sure we shall be doing a lot of business together in the future, but for
the
moment we will not talk of such sordid matters, you will please tell me about your wonderful boat.’

He frowned, and ran his fingers through his long, grey hair. ‘Ah, I forgot, please excuse me.’ He turned to the tall man behind him. ‘This is Andrew Mason, my partner, er, give him a drink, Andrew.’

Mason nodded briefly to Vivian, and turned to his well-stocked bar. Over his shoulder, rather too casually, he said, ‘All fixed up, Felix, no trouble is there?’

‘No, nothing like that,’ said Lang shortly. ‘Philip just popped up to let me know he was back all right.’

Mason stood the glass carefully on a small mat.

‘I didn’t know you were coming back to London?’ His eyebrows were raised in an unspoken question.

‘No, I wanted to get a few small matters straightened out,’ said Vivian quietly.

‘Come over here, my boy,’ commanded Jensen testily. ‘Tell me about the boat. It’s useless talking to Mason about boats, he’s an old soldier, he doesn’t understand the creatures!’

Vivian seated himself in a small chair by the older man’s side, gripping his glass tighly, and trying desperately to keep control of his mixed emotions.

Jensen laid one hand on his arm. ‘Just a moment, before you begin.’ He turned to the girl, who sat curled on the floor by the radiogram, her eyes dreamy, and a slender ankle jerking in time to the music.

‘Can’t you turn that dreadful din down a bit, Janice?’ he complained. ‘It really is a most awful sort of noise.’

She pouted again, but switched off the music. Then with her knees drawn up under her chin, she sat concentrating her gaze on Vivian’s face.

In a short while, he realized that Jensen was not just a polite listener, he was a thorough master of the subject, and
from
time to time he shot questions to him, some of which were of an extremely technical nature.

‘You know a lot of the sea, sir?’ queried Vivian at length.

‘Ah, my boy, there was a time, before——’ he stopped, and shook his head sadly. ‘It was a long time ago, in my old country. We lived at the top of a big fjord, and whenever we had any time, we would go sailing in my little boat. And sometimes,’ he paused, his eyes dreamy and distant, ‘we would just sit. Just sit and fish.’

There was a sudden silence in the room, and Jensen seemed unaware of their presence.

Lang laughed, a trifle too heartily. ‘Have another drink, old boy,’ and Janice was on her feet in a flash to take his empty glass.

She refilled it, and carefully carried it back to him, lingering as she bent over the chair, allowing her loose-topped dress to confuse Vivian even more.

The door opened, and Morrie, the unusual manservant, waited politely until he caught Jensen’s eye.

‘Your niece has just driven up, sir,’ he grated.

Jensen jerked back to life, smiling quietly. ‘Ah yes, it’s getting late, and I did tell Karen to call for me.’

He turned to Vivian. ‘We live out of London you see, and she insists that I go home early.’ He chuckled. ‘I am getting old I think.’

At the sound of the outer door being opened, Vivian steeled himself. If this girl was to be another Janice, he had to prepare a suitable expression, so as not to display his confusion yet again.

Whatever control he had, whatever fears he entertained, all were scattered as Karen Jensen stepped briskly through the door. His mouth went dry, and his heart pounded heavily, for to say that she was merely lovely, was a cruel understatement. Her hair, which was long, and hung loose
to
her shoulders, was of such a pure yellow, that it shone in the reflected light like silver. It made a perfect frame for her small, oval face, which was dominated by the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen.