High Water Read online

  `Married?' queried Vivian dazedly.

  `Married? Me? Do us a favour, old boy! Marriage is all right for some, but let's face it, matrimony and I are like whisky and vinegar, we don't mix!'

  `Well, I must say you seem to have done a damn sight better than I have, Felix, but I still don't see where I come in.'

  Lang leaned seriously over the table, his eyes searching. `Among other things, we arrange a lot of cruises on hired yachts, and I could keep you busy all next season, if you're interested. Wait!' He waved an admonitory finger as Vivian opened his mouth to speak. `Right now I need you for a special trip for one customer only, over to the other side. The chap who was going to do it is no longer available.' He paused. `And I must have a chap I can rely on absolutely. In other words, old boy, you.'

  `Are you trying to make me believe that for doing that trip, and heaven knows there must be dozens of ownerskippers who'd do it for you, you'll pay me the seven hundred pounds I need for my boat?' He looked the other man hard in the eyes. `It's crooked, isn't it?' he said quietly.

  Lang sighed heavily. `Come, come, now, don't ask me a question like that. Let us say it's a matter of essential business. Essential to me. And, of course, essential to your boat.'

  He watched Vivian struggling with his emotions, and went into the attack, `Look, Philip, I wouldn't give you a line, I know you too well of old, but believe me, you'd have nothing to worry about, you'd be an employee of the agency while you're on the job, quite legitimate in fact. There is absolutely no need for you to know anything about anybody. Just take my chap over to France, quietly, and without anyone knowing when or where. The chappie in question, Cooper, is a sort of undercover agent, who keeps an eye on all our agencies, and keeps them supplied with a little extra cash to by-pass the bloody currency restrictions. It's the only way to survive, you know. On paper it's illegal, I know, but the people who made those laws are the very people you and I fought like hell to protect. While we sweated blood, they made a tidy pile, but I don't have to tell you that, do I?' He smiled confidently. `What have you done with your medals, eh? I don't suppose your friend the broker would accept those for credit!'

  `But, seven hundred quid, I--'

  `Well, it's worth it to us, you can say it's six months' pay in advance, if you like, anything, but will you do it? Because, if you don't, I'll have to get someone else. Probably some

  one I don't like, and don't want to help.

  `You've nothing to lose, and everything to gain. No one will give you a second glance, they're used to your boat popping in and out everywhere, obviously, and on this occasion, when you come back, it'll be in your own boat! Not one that'll belong to some bloody little moneygrabber!'

  He drew a slim, gold case from his suit, and lit a cigarette; as he exhaled slowly, he said softly, `Well, old boy, are you on?'

  Vivian trembled violently, and forced a smile. `I'm on. Just this once.'

  Lang breathed deeply, and held out his hand.

  `Shake, blast you! Now, let's have dinner.'

  As he made a sign to the waiter who was hovering nearby, he grinned boyishly. `Come round to the office tomorrow on your way to the blood-suckers, and we'll give you the wherewithal.'

  He winked heavily. `As I've always said, if you're in a

  racket, and can do not a damn thing about it, then you must make the most of it!'

  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 ' e 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 thright direction. Then he saw it, an impressive, doublewindowed 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.'

  O h 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, wellcarpeted 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 s e s he stared quizzically through the smoke, like a wellf-i;;d 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 1 now, I really am more grateful than you realize.'

  A.ang 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 dam

  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 d
on'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 my self?,

  '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, lie 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 wail, 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, twotoned 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.

  The navigation lights gleamed like red and green eyes on either side of the wheelhouse, and having ensured that the horizon was clear of shipping Vivian slipped down into the saloon, where Cooper had agreed to lay a meal for them both.

  One of the big suitcases lay open on the deck, and Vivian looked at it in amazement. It contained a dirty, five-gallon oil drum.

  Cooper nodded knowingly. `Pretty, isn't it?' `What's the idea of that, then?'

  'You take the dear, little drum ashore, well, two of them to- be exact, and if any gentleman asks you where you're going, just say you want to get some lubricating oil for the engines. You then go to the garage which I shall point out to you, and bring back two full drums of oil; the man at the garage will keep these beauties. Neat, yes?'

  `Phew, it's neat all right,' Vivian pushed his cap to the back of his head, and watched while Cooper unpacked another drum.

  He tested the weight in his hand.

  'Hm, they're a bit heavy for drums which are supposed to be empty, he commented.

  'Well then,' said the little man, with a bright show of teeth, `you mustn't let anyone hold them for you, must you?'

  Again, there was that strange undercurrent of menace in his voice.

  Vivian shook his head, he was imagining things again. `Okay, Mr. Cooper, those drums are as good as delivered.' Cooper stroked his silk shirt lovingly, and gazed dreamily

  into space.

  'I'm so glad you're easy to get along with,' he paused, and glanced casually round the saloon. 'After all, I hate boats to catch fire, don't you?'

  As Vivian reset the Automatic Pilot at midn
ight, those words were still with him, but he knew that it was too late to turn back now.

  2

  EVERYWHERE in the Calais yacht basin groups of buntingbedecked yachts, of every conceivable class and size, rolled gently together, their ensigns, and the excited voices of their boisterous owners, making it quite clear to Vivian that they were indeed the visiting British yacht club.

  The two oil drums felt conspicuous enough as they banged clumsily against his legs, but, knowing their contents, he felt that every eye was watching him.

  As Cooper had suggested, in his pseudo-Americangangster manner, before he had left the boat just previously, it had all been just too easy, the Port and Customs officials had been both too busy, and too full of good-fellowship, to worry about one more visiting yacht. He chuckled to himself, as he wondered what would happen if he absconded with the money he was carrying.

  Away from the boat, and Cooper, his previous thoughts and fears now seemed a trifle fantastic. Cooper really was an odorous little man, and he would not be at all sorry to be rid of him for good.

  He turned sharp right, as directed, into a dingy, little, cobbled mews, and stood for an instant looking at the small, dilapidated garage, with its battered, tin advertisement placards, their surfaces long since made unreadable by urchins throwing stones and the filth of manouvring vehicles. The double doors leading into a large work-room leaned drunkenly, the faded paint peeled and decayed, and adding to the general air of forlornness.