High Water (1959) (12 page)

He took her hands in his, feeling their soft warmth. ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost my bearings. I think I’d better circle round a bit, and try to pick up the road. Then we’ll work from there.’

‘What shall I do?’ she shivered slightly.

‘You stand just there, Karen, and I’ll be able to see what I’m doing then. Don’t worry, I’ll not let you go. Now, or ever,’ he added, and he gave her hands a quick squeeze.

She seemed to shrink, as he backed away from her, and began to move in what he believed was the direction they had already been travelling. He swore silently as he stumbled against an old post, and as he recovered his balance, he heard the distant sound of a car. Again he cursed, but it might show me the blasted road!

There was a squeal of tyres, and two powerful headlamps swung, like twin sword-blades, across the barren landscape, splitting the night in two, and even as he watched, another car rocketed round the side of a little hillock, close on the tail of the other. Sharply displayed in the glare, before the cars swung round to a careering halt, he saw the old house, its empty windows like blind eyes. Even then, he didn’t comprehend, until he heard the slam of doors, and the sharp shouts of command. Then he turned desperately away, and ran back through the field, heedless of the obstacles which threatened to send him flying. He reached her breathless, and seized her by the arm.

‘We’ll have to get a move on!’ His voice sounded like a strangled gasp. ‘The police have arrived!’

With the road and the house behind them, they started off again, and once, when he darted a glance over his shoulder, he saw the winking of torches around the old building, and any second he expected to hear a shouted challenge.

He forced through some bushes, holding the clawing branches back for her, and as he saw the thorns tearing at her skirt, he felt a wave of helpless rage, and a cold fury at himself, sweep through him. It was all his fault, something kept saying, and she was suffering for his stupidity.

‘My shoe!’ her voice called him back to his senses, and he felt her pull heavily on his arm, as she hopped awkwardly on one foot.

‘Where did it go?’ He peered about them, but the darkness mocked back at him.

Then, as he heard the sound of a dog barking, he gathered her up in his arms, his chest heaving. ‘Come on, we’ll keep going, or we’re done for!’

Suddenly, like a slap in the face, a breeze, filled with salt, seemed to rise up from his feet, and he found himself groping along the edge of the shallow cliff, while in the distance he could hear the harsh roar of the sea breaking over the rocks.

Without even a pause to look back, he blundered down the path, gritting his teeth, and aware only of his precious burden, and the necessity to reach the boat.

‘Fer God’s sake! Where have you bin? I can’t move the dinghy on my own!’ Cooper’s voice was high pitched.

Vivian thought it just as well, otherwise he and Karen would have been left to fend for themselves.

‘All right,’ he snapped, trying to control his strangled breath. ‘We’ll do it now.’ And he lowered the girl on to the sand.

‘Did you flash the boat?’ he said, as an afterthought.

‘Sure, sure, I flashed, and I heard the anchor come up. So for gosh sakes, getta move on, willya?’

Together, he and Vivian dragged the dinghy down to the water, and the surf boiled noisily, and cold around their feet. Vivian noted, with amazement, that Cooper had somehow found the time to stuff the radio into the sternsheets.

He swung the girl off her feet, and placed her carefully into the boat, then, as Cooper vaulted ungraciously in after her, he put his weight against the bows, and as it slid into deeper water, he, too, clambered to his seat, and got out the oars.

He pulled with his last strength away from the beach, his eyes flickering from the blackness of the land to the pale oval of the girl’s face, while Cooper beat his hands on the gunwale with frustration at their slow passage.

Out of the stillness, they heard the growing rumble of the yacht’s diesels, and a few moments later, they bumped alongside, and Vivian steadied Karen, as she climbed on deck.

The next minutes were a nightmare. They hoisted the dinghy, and Vivian took the wheel from Morrie, whose face, briefly illuminated by the binnacle light, was as impassive as ever, and even unsurprised by the extra passenger, and gently eased the engines ahead. Slowly
Seafox
swung about, her screws beating up little plumes of phosphorescence, and still nothing happened. Ten minutes passed, and he opened the throttles a little more, still waiting for a spotlight to settle on them, or a shot to ring out.

Cooper clung to the side of the bridge, peering back, and every so often muttering, ‘Boy, that was sure close!’ while Morrie merely stood silent, his very size helping to heighten the tension.

As he swung the wheel a couple of turns, the deck canted,
and
he felt the girl’s hands holding his belt from behind, for support, and her very presence gave him strength. He reached behind him, and pulled her to his side, one arm encircling her shoulders, and for a while there was silence, but for the steady rumble beneath them, and the slap of water around the raked bows. When he had steadied the boat on her course, he sighed heavily, and glanced at the luminous dial of the wheelhouse clock: 3 a.m. Less than two hours had passed since he had stood in that bare room, watching the Frenchman counting the forged notes.

‘Here, Morrie, take over,’ he said suddenly. ‘Keep her North, twenty East.’ And as he handed over, he turned to Cooper. ‘And you keep your eyes skinned. We’re not out of the woods yet!’

‘Gee, they won’t catch us now, will they?’ His tone was uneasy.

‘They might have a few coastguard cutters about, you never know.’

Then, softening his voice, he looked down at the girl, her hair gleaming like silver against the dark windows. ‘Come on below, where I can see you,’ and unprotesting, she allowed herself to be guided down the steps to his cabin.

She stood quietly, swaying to the motion of the boat, while he made sure the scuttles were covered, and the door to the wheelhouse was shut, and as he snapped on the lights, she lowered her head, as if her strength had at last ebbed away.

He was aghast at what he saw. Her scarlet jacket was stained and creased, while her skirt had been torn in several places. Of her stockings, but a few wisps remained, and spots of blood showed on her slim legs, where the thorns had done their work. Gently, he prised the remaining shoe from her grasp, and she looked up at it in apparent surprise, as if she couldn’t remember carrying it, and as
their
eyes met, he was shocked to see the deep hurt which was stamped clearly in their expression, and once more he cursed himself for causing her this pain.

‘You must lie down, and try to get some sleep.’ His words sounded inadequate. ‘You’ll feel better tomorrow, and we’ll decided what’s to be done then.

‘All right, Philip,’ she answered in a small voice, and she sank down on to the bed. ‘What will you do?’

He tried to smile. ‘Oh I don’t know, I’ll think of something.’

With a great feeling of tenderness, he saw her fall back on to the pillow, her eyes closed.

‘Call me if you want anything.’

She nodded heavily, and he stepped back, closing the door quietly.

All was quiet in the ebony desert which surrounded the yacht, and only an occasional white crest marred the heaving, oily swell. They were alone, and already the lights of the French coast had become tiny pinpricks in the far distance.

‘All right, Morrie?’

The figure twisted slightly. ‘Yes, I will stay on the wheel, I like it.’

‘Very good, it’ll be a big help, if we can split the duties.’

He turned to Cooper, who was wringing water from his trousers. ‘And what about you?’

‘I’ll live,’ he muttered. ‘But I won’t be sorry when we get out of this.’

Later, he went below again, and stepped softly into the lighted cabin. Karen lay on the bunk, one leg hanging over the edge, swaying with the boat. She had undone the front of her jacket, and he could see the gentle rise and fall of her breast. He smiled fondly, as he lifted her leg on to the bunk and covered her body with a blanket. For a while he stood
looking
down at her, watching her quiet breathing, and wishing he could smooth the slight frown from her face. Then, quickly, and almost shyly, he stooped, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She moaned softly, and he stepped back, shutting off the lights.

As he returned to his worries, and his new problems, the picture of her face on his pillow remained fixed in his brain.

AS THE LIGHT
strengthened, and filtered into the boat, Vivian yawned, and wriggled his aching shoulders. His eyes were sore and red-rimmed with concentration, and his limbs felt strained from the constant pitching of the hull beneath him. Involuntarily he ducked, as a rearing wave broke desperately over the sharp stem, and sent a stream of salt spray slashing at the windows in front of him, making his vision a strange, shimmering distortion. The weather was deteriorating fast.

He wondered what would happen when he eventually made a landfall, whether or not a reception committee of Customs officers and policemen would be awaiting him, or whether he was being too careful by driving the boat up the Channel, in the teeth of a howling gale.

Another wave punched the stout hull, and he heard something fall and break in the galley.

The sound of a heavy tread on the saloon steps made him turn, to find Morrie blinking vaguely through the side windows at the pitching waters.

‘Morning,’ nodded Vivian shortly. He was too tired, and too strained, to try to manufacture conversation. ‘Come to take over?’

Morrie swayed heavily, and put out a hand to steady himself. ‘Yes, you will be tired, I think,’ he announced gruffly.

Vivian watched him take the helm, and stood back, his eye on the compass. There was no need to worry, for within seconds the big man had the boat under control, and hunched his ugly body, as if to take on the sea as an adversary.

Vivian yawned again, and staggered down into the saloon. It looked desolate and unwelcome in the grey light, and the deck was littered with books, which had jerked free from their shelves. He noticed, as he began laboriously to gather them up, that one of them was the railway time-table. He smiled ruefully, as he stuffed it in the rack, remembering as he did so, the last time he had used it. If it hadn’t been necessary to go to London about the boat, all this would not have happened.

He heaved his aching body up on to the settee, and lay back in one corner, his foot braced to take the sudden plunges of the boat.

He found that he was staring at the portable radio which Cooper had managed to save from the operation the night before. It lay on its back, in a corner of the saloon, carefully sandwiched between some of the chair cushions, and shining dully, its chromium fittings looking cheap and vulgar.

He sat looking at it with dislike for some time, wondering what had given Cooper the courage to hang on to the thing when he had seemed about to lose his head completely. He dismissed it from his mind, and tried to concentrate on what Karen had told him. Karen, it was still unbelievable to think she was lying asleep in his cabin, and that she had done so much, and risked everything, to warn him. He shook his head admiringly. She had been more than a match for Muir.

David Muir, he thought, must have been mad to turn his mind away from Karen, just for the chance of arresting
another
smuggler. What had she said? He frowned. ‘Smuggling drugs.’

Suddenly, he was sitting bolt upright, his mind clear, and ice cold. If Muir had been interested in drug smuggling, it could only have been because it affected him directly, because, he paused, his eyes turning again to the portable radio, the goods were coming
in
to the country. He gasped with horror, and dropped to his hands and knees beside the shining case.

Frantically, he unclipped the back, and turned the set over on to its face, his heart thumping. For a moment he stared in confusion at the mass of coils and valves, then, with a forced calmness, he began to examine each piece individually. Slowly, he began to relax, as he found the parts in order, and revealing nothing suspicious.

Gently, he slid out the dry battery, it was a large one, and began to feel behind it. He was tapping the metal case with his finger-nail, when the boat lurched, and the battery rolled off his knee, and fell with a thud on the deck. As he picked it up, he noticed that the packing was chipped, and through a crack in the coloured cardboard he could see the glint of an aluminium container.

With a sinking feeling of helpess resignation, he began to tear away the wrapping, until eventually, he was left with a bright metal box, about a foot long, and six inches deep. It was completely sealed, and as he weighed it in his hand, he wondered how much it would be worth in cash, to say nothing of the misery it would bring in the way of human degradation.

The
Seafox
yawed in the trough of a wave, and Vivian looked up automatically towards the wheelhouse, to see what was happening. But his vision was blocked. Morrie’s huge shape towered at the top of the steps, completely filling the doorway. His face was still blank and listless, but his
eyes
gleamed threateningly, as he stared at the box in Vivian’s hands.

‘What are you doing?’ his voice rose to an almost crazy shout, and he started down the steps, his fingers twitching uncontrollably.

Like a cat, Vivian rose lightly to his feet, a feeling of cold, consuming rage rising within him.

‘Stay where you are, Morrie!’ he barked, ‘I mean to get to the bottom of this.’ He shook the box angrily. ‘Of this filth!’

Morrie didn’t apparently hear. He came on, mumbling, and reaching for the box, his eyes wild.

Vivian knew that if once he allowed himself to be taken off guard, he would stand no chance, so deliberately, he tossed the box casually on to the settee.

As Morrie lunged forward after it, Vivian stepped in close under his wildly swinging arms, and drove his fist into the heavy chin, just below his ear. He gasped with pain, as the shock of the blow travelled up his arm. It had been like hitting a wall. For a moment, Morrie staggered drunkenly, and then, as the boat rolled heavily, he pitched forward against the table, splitting it in two as he fell.