High Water Page 4

  `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 corning 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 loosetopped 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.

  Her slim, rounded body, dressed in a simply cut, coollooking dress, gave the impression of warmth and cool maturity at the same time, and as Vivian stumbled to his feet, he found himself looking down into those amused, candid eyes, with a new feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Her hand was small and soft, like a tiny animal, he thought, and he marvelled at the rich, honey-colour of her skin.

  `You have made another conquest, Karen,' laughed Jensen, who had been carefully watching Vivian's reactions, and to Vivian, `Keep away, my boy, she's expensive, I can tell you!'

  She smiled, showing her even, white teeth. `Don't be silly, Uncle, you are the expensive one!'

  Her voice too, with the fascinating accent, made his blood tingle, and he was horribly aware of his own shabby jacket and scuffed shoes.

  `You should have been earlier, my dear,' said Jensen, as she helped him to his feet. `He was telling us about his lovely boat.'

  She turned to Vivian, her eyes wide. `What is the boat's name?'

  'Seafox,' answered Vivian, his throat suddenly dry.

  `_A beautiful name,' she said thoughtfully. `I should like to see it one day.'

  Er, perhaps you and Mr. Jensen would care to see her while she is in London?'

  His voice must have sounded almost pleading, for she laughed outright, her hair shaking and gleaming. Then, as if she was afraid she had offended him, she laid a small,

  brown hand on his sleeve, and studied his face gravely. `Yes, we will try to come.'

  Then she turned away, to say good-bye to Mason and Lang, and with hot, envious eyes, he followed her every movement. Only when she and her uncle had departed, in fact, did he allow his muscles and nerves to relax.

  As Mason and Lang were talking quietly in a corner, he busied himself with another drink, although he knew it was not the whisky which was making him light-headed now. He turned, and saw Janice watching him seriously. She pulled a face.

  `It's hell, isn't it?' she whispered, and Vivian noticed she was wearing a wedding-ring.

  He warmed to her, glad of someone to talk to.

  `Did it show then?' he grinned awkwardly.

  `Oh no, not much!' she laughed. `I thought you were going to propose to her.' She paused. `You're wasting your time there though,' she went on. `Her sole interest is looking after old Jensen, and of course, he sees that she wants for nothing.' She watched him
like a cat. `Nothing but a man, that is,' she said archly. `And here's me, struggling with two!'

  Vivian shook his head dazedly. `You're married, I see....' he began.

  `Yes, I'm Mrs. Mason!' And she turned away to the radiogram..

  Vivian shook his head wearily. She was Mrs. Mason, yet she was obviously the girl Lang had been sleeping with. Most of the people he had seen today were mixed up in this smuggling venture, yet they didn't look like ... he paused, look like what? What does a smuggler look like? A chill crept across his spine. Perhaps even Karen? But no, that would be ridiculous. I'll get the full dope from Felix, he decided.

  Lang touched his arm.

  `Come on, old boy, we must be off, and let these two good people rest.'

  Vivian darted a glance at Janice, but she appeared intent on her records.

  As they descended in the lift, Lang was humming softly, his eyes dreamy.

  `You did damn well, old boy,' he said, as the doors slid noiselessly open for them. `Now let's get away from here. It always makes me rattled talking to that creep!'

  Vivian glanced at him in surprise. 'I thought you were all fixed up there?'

  'As I said earlier, it's a lielluva mix-up. But I'll tell you

  about it in a minute.' He stiffened. 'Oh blast!' he muttered. A tall policeman was standing heavily by the parked Bentley. He looked up as the two men approached.

  Your car?' His voice was belligerent.

  Terribly sorry, Officer,' said Lang cheerfully. `Forgot to put the lights on, I see.' He smiled disarmingly. 'I really am sorry. I'm sure you chaps have quite enough to do without running about after forgetful idiots like me.'

  The policeman, taken off his guard, shifted his feet and coughed.

  'Well, you know how it is, sir,' he began importantly.

  'I do indeed, old boy,' Lang nodded understandingly, and suddenly held out his hand. `Here get a drink for yourself when you're off duty.'

  The policeman's hand closed on the note without hesitation, and he smiled apologetically. 'Well, thank you very much, sir. I hope you don't think I'm in the habit of....'

  Lang waved carelessly, and opened the car door, `Forget old boy, let's just blame it all on the Government!'

  He slid his heavy body behind the wheel, and Vivian climbed in beside him. The car trembled, and slid away from the kerb, Lang glanced into his mirror.

  `Bastard!' he said dispassionately.

  Vivian looked at him in mock surprise. `You really are a cool customer,' he admitted. 'D'you make a habit of that sort of thing?'

  'Can't afford to rub the police up the wrong way y'know.' His voice was emphatic. 'Otherwise they might hang about when I'm not just making a social call one day_ He chuckled. 'They're a funny lot, you know. Half the people who get pinched for motoring offences do so because they will argue with the coppers. S'fact, old boy, they just don't know the right approach, that's all.'

  `Bit dangerous though, isn't it?'

  Lang laughed shortly. `Have you ever heard of a motoris getting pinched for attempted bribery?' He laughed again. "Course you haven't, but I have a feeling I'm not the first customer that young chap's had.'

  They were both silent for a while, as Lang extricated himself from the heavier traffic. He turned his head suddenly.

  `Look, d'you mind if we go down to your boat?'

  'All right by me. Why?'

  'I'd like to see her, for one thing. And it might bring back a few memories too. Then we can have a drink and discuss the whole bloody business.'

  They lapsed into silence again, as Lang made rapidly fbr Chelsea, the scenery changing from grey shop fronts and government offices, to coffee bars and comfortable-looking pubs, small terraced houses, and occasionally the glint of the quiet river,

  They left the car at Chelsea Pier, and clumped along the board-walk to the little dinghy, which tilted alarmingly as Lang settled himself in the stern. Vivian smiled in the darkness. Lang seemed like a child, unable to disguise his pleasure at being near a boat again.

  They bumped alongside, and as Vivian secured the painter, Lang heaved himself on to the deck, and sniffed approvingly.

  `Not bad, not bad at all,' he commented, and stood back, as Vivian unlocked the wheelhouse door, and flooded the boat with light.

  He too began to enjoy himself, as he showed Lang over the yacht, and as the other man stood by the wheel, examining the shining compass, he caught a brief glimpse of the past. Lang in oilskin and muffler, his face impassive, but his voice excited, yelling, `Open fire when your guns bear!' and then standing at the bridge screen, unflinching, as the enemy tracers whipped past.

  Lang looked surprised at Vivian's grave expression.

  `What's up, Philip? You look as if you've seen a ghost.'

  He lowered his eyes, caught off guard. `I was just thinking about the old days, Felix,' he admitted.

  Lang clapped him across the shoulder. `If it's any consolation to you, old boy, so was I.' He grimaced ruefully. `It's all over though, I'm afraid. For chaps like us there'll never be anything else quite the same.' He peered into the saloon, and rubbed his hands. `Well, come on, where's that drink? We've got a lot of talking to do.'

  `You have, Felix. Not me!'

  He produced the last bottle of gin, and two glasses, then as he hunted for the bitters, and filled a small glass jug with water: `This is for the paying customers really. When I get 'em!' he added. `But I think you've paid your share of my keep so I imagine you're entitled.'

  They drank slowly, while Vivian waited for the other to begin. Lang cocked one leg over the other, and stared at his

  glass moodily, then, with a jerk of his head, he shot a sharp glance across the table, his eyes serious.

  `Well, brace yourself, me boy, I'm going to give you e lot, and believe me, I shall value your opinion, whatever it may be,' he said heavily.

  Vivian tensed, and unconsciously leaned forward.

  `As I said before'-Lang waved his glass vaguely-- `it all began when I pulled the old man, Jensen, and the girl, she was just a kid then, out of Europe. I ran into him immediately after the war, here in London ; I was in a museum of all places, just filling in time between opening hours. We got talking, and instead of going out on another blind, he took me out to his house, a lovely old place at Hampton Court, right by the river. His niece, Karen, was there, although I hardly recognized her. What with the march of time, an English boarding-school, and a good home, well, she was a bit different from the little bag of skin and bones that my sailors pulled aboard, I can tell you!'

  He paused, as Vivian refilled the glasses, his hand shaking. Lang had uncovered a nerve when he had reminded him of Karen.

  `Anyway, the outcome of it was we went into this business. At first, it didn't go too well, what with the travel restrictions, no money, and all that, but after a while we began to pick up, and I thought everything was going to be just fine for little me.' He frowned, as if trying to erase the memory. `Then, one day, old Jensen sent for me at his home, and when I got there, this chap Mason was waiting.' He paused, breathing heavily.

  `Did you know him then?' asked Vivian involuntarily.

  `Know him?' Lang laughed harshly. `I should say I did! When I was serving in Germany, just after the war, waiting to be kicked out of the Andrew, I was making a little extra flogging stores, you know, petrol, food, all that sort of thing.

  Not very pretty, I know, but I was just about broke, and I didn't have any idea what to do in civvy street. I was a proper mutt, I can tell you. Anyway, Mason was a Security bloke out there, and to cut short a sad story, he caught up with me.'

  `But you left the Navy with a clean slate!' exclaimed Vivian incredulously. 'I remember reading a bit about you in some magazine.'

  Lang was scornful.

  `Vile made a deal, old boy. He sat on the evidence, and that was that! At least, I thought it was. You can imagine how I felt when I found him sitting with old Jensen.'

  Vivian gripped the edge of his seat, to control his impatie
nce and mounting curiosity. The gin, taken on an empty stomach, was making him feel slightly sick but he gritted his teeth, and listened.

  'It appeared,' said Lang slowly, `that Mason had been his friend, or partner, for some time, and hadn't realized I was working for the bureau. Jensen said he was sorry, but he wanted me to help him get some money taken abroad. He said it was most necessary, and Mason implied that if I didn't come across and lend a hand, he would send the evidence about that business in Germany to the cops! Believe me, old boy, I nearly passed out, especially when Jensen insisted that I should be cut in for a share of the profit, if I co-operated, that is! It all happened so unexpectedly, old friend, that I didn't know what to say. The choice of getting rich quick, but being drawn in on the racket, or going to jail, with no hope afterwards.' He shook his head, wearily. 'I wanted time to think, but in the end, I ran a load of dollars over to France. Mason has contacts there, who get rid of the money, and buy up all sorts of stuff, property, and God knows what. I'm really a bit hazy on that score. The fact remains, that he had something on

  me, but even after they'd told me their schemes, I'd never have been able to prove anything against Mason. Anyway, I didn't want to implicate Jensen, after what he'd done for me.)

  'But I still don't get it, Felix, why dollars?' Vivian persisted.

  Lang took a deep breath. `Brace yourself, old boy. The dollars,' he said slowly and deliberately, `are forged! Every blasted one of them!'

  Vivian whistled, amazement written in his clear eyes.

  `God, Felix, this is a big thing!' he exclaimed.

  He sat back limply, his mind suddenly calm, as Lang plunged on, his voice getting shorter, and more excited.

  `The Jerries had Jensen in a concentration camp for years, he was a brilliant engraver, and they wanted him to produce foolproof plates for making Allied money. They were going to flood this country with it to start with, and cause terrific inflation here, then, because Jensen wasn't being very helpful, they switched to American money. No doubt they had an eye on the future. By the way, it was just about that time they butchered old Jensen's wife and child, just to help him along a bit.'