High Water (1959) (17 page)

He almost dropped the case, and his eyes smarted. Karen’s smiling face looked up at him, beautiful and happy. He picked it up, his hands unsteady. Forgive me for what I have to do, my darling, it is only for your safety, and for your happiness, that I am doing this. He returned the photograph to the table, and with a hollow sigh, snapped off the light, and forced himself back to the workshop.

The case would be all right there, and he pushed it under a pile of old art magazines. Next, he pocketed the tiny caricature, Jensen’s final artistic creation, and with a quick glance at the door, to make sure that the heavy, old-fashioned key was still protruding from the outside of the keyhole, he turned off the lights, and shut and clicked the
door
behind him. As he pulled the front door of the house, until he heard the Yale lock snap shut, a chill breeze made him shiver, and realize just how much he had been sweating, with shock and fear.

The old car started reluctantly, and without a further glance behind him, he drove grimly down the drive, and out on to the deserted road. As he turned once more over Kingston Bridge, his tortured thoughts recalled the words of his first commanding officer, during the war. He had been trying to explain the dangers, in action, of over-confidence. ‘These things don’t happen to other people, Vivian, they happen to
you
!’ He hadn’t liked the man much, but how true his words had been then, and were now, at this very second!

Like a lonely outpost, he suddenly saw the telephone booth from where he had tried to telephone Jensen. It seemed like a century ago.

Burr-burr. ‘I am trying to connect you.’ It was a man’s voice this time.

‘Hallo? Felix Lang speaking.’ The voice was thick, and heavy with sleep.

‘Felix, this is Philip!’ In the confined booth, his own voice was harsh and unnatural.

‘Philip, for Christ’s sake! What are you up to, getting a fella out of bed on a night like this?’

‘Listen. I’m in a jam,’ he began.

‘I heard about it. Jensen told me about the spot of bother you had, but I’m jolly glad it all went off as well as it——’

‘For God’s sake, listen!’ He was shouting. ‘I’ve just left the old man.’ Must be careful not to mention any names, a warning signal flashed in his brain. ‘He’s dead!’ There was a gasp in the earpiece. ‘They’ve taken the niece, they want the plates in exchange!’ He stopped, struggling with his message. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Now, just a minute, old boy,’ Lang sounded fully alert, his tone steady, and somehow giving Vivian confidence. ‘I think I understand. Have you got the plates now?’

‘Apparently. He left a message for me. Felix, for God’s sake, what shall I do?’

There was silence for a while, and Vivian could hear Lang’s deep breathing over the line.

‘Look, Philip, where are you?’ When Vivian had answered, his voice continued, full of strength, as if he was trying to instil a fresh confidence over the long wire between them. ‘Well, drive back to your boat, and get rid of the car. Then sit tight, and wait for me. I’ll come down as soon as I’ve squared up the business you’ve just left.’

‘I’ve done that, Felix,’ he said tightly.

‘Phew, you have eh? Sure it’s all right?’

‘Yes, it’ll do, I think.’

‘Right, get going. I’m on my way now!’

Ramsgate was a different town when the car’s headlights slashed the darkened houses and shopfronts, and even the lonely, patrolling policeman made Vivian look back with a new, fearful apprehension, until he was sure that the man was only looking at him with a professional disinterest.

He drove the car into the yard at the back of the hire firm and left a scribbled note under the windscreen wiper. Then, with his shoulders hunched, and his hands thrust deep into his jacket pockets, he started to walk to the harbour, his footsteps ringing out crisply on the still, salt-laden air.

It was low water, and he had to climb down the full length of the slimy ladder to the deck of
Seafox
.

He remembered bitterly, and with real grief, how he and Karen had climbed up the very same steps, to buy the shoes. They had laughed then, and the future had been filled with fresh hope and promise.

Seafox
, too, was different, and the very noises of her loose gear, as it rattled and squeaked, seemed unfamiliar and distant.

There were no notes or messages thrust under the wheelhouse door, as he had hoped, or feared, and after a rapid glance around the boat, he lowered himself into the small engine room, squatting between the silent engines. He lifted the boards by the starboard flywheel, throwing them furiously to one side, in his haste. He reached right down into the bowels of the hull, his cheek scratching against the engine’s unyielding metal, and his fingers groping between the stout timbers, until he felt the rough touch of canvas, and breathing heavily, he pulled the weighty parcel into the glare of his inspection lamp. He untied the strong cord which held the canvas wrapper around the contents, and as he peeled it away, the sharp, metallic glint of the neat stack of oblong plates faced him from the deck.

He picked up the top one, turning it over in his hands, and noting the intricate lines and patterns on its surface. So these were the plates which Jensen had made so carefully, and with such patient skill. For these he had died, and for these his killers would do anything. He swallowed hard. Anything! It was fantastic, and yet so coldly logical.

He sat back on his haunches, staring at the plates. When he handed them over to Mason what guarantee could he have that Karen would be safe? Surely Mason and Cooper would not hesitate to act again.

He had to be able to bargain, even in a small way. He had to gain time. Time to get to Karen’s side, to show her that he was not beaten, and that Jensen’s message had not been in vain.

He looked at the plates again. One for the front of each type of bank-note, and one for the back. If he left some of
them
behind in the boat, and took the others to Mason, perhaps he would be able to bargain, when the time arose. It seemed a feeble hope, but it was better than doing nothing. Carefully, he selected half the plates, and then stowed the others back loosely in their hiding place, and pushed the boards back into position. Mason was no fool, but it was unlikely he would know exactly what to expect, and without a careful examination, he might accept them on their face value. Then, he would be able to see what would happen next.

He re-wrapped the package, and when he was satisfied, he climbed back into the wheelhouse, and stowed the parcel in a small locker, and turned the key.

The sight of Karen’s clothes on the bunk made a fresh helplessness twist his inside in half, and he gathered the garments together, and put them carefully in a small bag in readiness.

In the saloon he found a small bottle of whisky, and poured himself a full glass, the harsh liquid burning his dry throat like fire, and helping to steady his nerves.

As he put down the glass, a paper-knife on the bookcase caught his eye. It had been given to him at a mess party in Germany, just after the Armistice, by the Guards Armoured Division. He picked it up, testing it in his hand. It was about ten inches long, with an extremely sharp point, more of a weapon than an ornament. Might come in useful, he thought, and after several experiments, he secreted it down the inside of his sock, having first wrapped the point in a scrap of paper, to protect his ankle. In that manner, he found he was able to walk quite naturally and freely.

He glanced at his watch. Felix should be here soon. It would be better to go and meet him. Anything was better than just standing still, alone with his fears.

As he mounted the ladder, and stood braced between the
guard-rails
at the top, he shivered briefly in the cold air, and was thankful for the whisky’s warm glow within him.

For a while he stood looking down at the yacht, and at the flapping shape of the white towel, which he had hung on the forward rail. It looked like an admission of defeat, a flag of surrender. As he watched it, his shoulders heavy with both mental and physical exhaustion, it seemed for all the world like a crude challenge, and he felt a faint stir of desperate anger rising in answer.

He noticed too that the outlines of the boat were hardening, and what before had been only indistinct, blurred shapes, began to assume their normal proportions.

So the night was all but finished, and the lightening sky, which crept slowly over the horizon in thin, grey fingers, was the visible introduction to what might prove to be his most testing day, or his last.

He shook his tired shoulders, and started to walk wearily towards the harbour entrance. A disturbed gull flapped angrily away from the masthead of a moored yacht, squawking loudly, its hard eyes watching the lone figure pass by, and in a sleeping street beyond the dance hall, a milk van rattled cheerfully on the cobbles. He paused in his stride, listening, his ears picking out the high whine of a fast-moving car.

The long Bentley swerved around the corner of the harbour road, the tyres skidding on the uneven surface, and even in the grey half-light, Vivian could see the thick coating of dust and dirt on its elegant bonnet.

A door slammed, and Lang, his thick form muffled in a belted, camel-hair overcoat, strode purposefully across to him.

‘Thanks for coming,’ nodded Vivian, thinking how tired and grim the other man looked. Once again, the ‘old boy’
mask
had dropped into the background, unfitting for the new personality.

Lang smiled briefly, stretching his arms, his eyes flitting quickly around the harbour.

‘Right, let’s talk. I’ll walk with you to the boat.’ He gestured with his head towards the car. ‘I’ve got Janice in there. She’s out to the wide!’ He laughed nervously. ‘Poor kid’s full of dope. After you ’phoned, I shot round to her place, although I still don’t know what I expected to find, and she was just about going up the wall! Mason shot off in the morning. Didn’t say where he was going, or how long he was going for.’ He paused, fumbling for a cigarette. ‘She knew something was wrong, but she still doesn’t realize what he was up to!’

‘You going to leave her here?’

‘Well, I gave her some stuff to make her sleep, and brought her along with me. After all this is over, I’m keeping her with me, for good.’

They started to walk, Lang puffing heavily on his cigarette, not speaking, while Vivian began to relate, fully, the whole story of what, in the harsh light of dawn, could only sound like a hideous dream.

He checked himself, as Lang touched his arm.

‘Have you hung out this bloody signal yet, Philip?’

Vivian pointed across the harbour wall. ‘Yes, I put it up as soon as I got here.’

‘We’ve got to be very careful about this. Mason’s a proper bastard, make no mistake about that!’

He stopped suddenly, apparently having arrived at a decision.

‘Look, you’ll have to wait until they get in touch with you. Then, just do what they tell you. No doubt they’ll want you to rendezvous somewhere.’

‘But, look here——’

Lang gestured impatiently. ‘Wait a minute, before you blow up! They’re not a bit worried about you. They know they’ve got you cold! You can’t go to the police, or tell anyone about it. One false move from you, and you know what’ll happen!’

Vivian blanched, and Lang seized his arm.

‘We’ve got to play it their way! Damn the plates! We’ve got your girl to worry about now, right?’

Vivian forced a smile. ‘Sorry, Felix, I’m about all in at the moment.’

‘I’m not surprised!’ He flicked the cigarette in a neat arc on to the oily water below them. ‘Better try to get some sleep. Until they make the first move, we’re bitched!’

‘I don’t think Mason’ll keep his word.’ Vivian spoke quietly, glad to be free of the fear which had lurked in the back of his mind.

‘He doesn’t count on me!’ Lang’s voice was hard. ‘If he doesn’t come across, he’ll have me to reckon with!’ He silenced Vivian’s outburst. ‘I’ll be right on your tail, wherever you are.’ He glanced back towards the town. ‘Right now, I think I’ll get Janice parked up in a hotel I know. She can sleep it off there.’ He turned to go. ‘Soon as I’ve done that, I’ll be right back. We sit this out together!’

‘Thanks, Felix, you’ve made me feel a whole lot better.’

‘Nuts, old boy, don’t forget that I got you into all this in the first place!’

Lang sauntered away, his crépe-soled shoes kicking up the loose sand of the stone flags. Vivian watched his broad back until it vanished around the harbourmaster’s office, and then lowered himself aboard
Seafox
.

He shaved, and changed into clean clothes, and then threw himself on to his bunk, to await events. He tried to smoke his pipe, but somehow he couldn’t concentrate, and he put it down wretchedly. His head was drooping, and his
breathing
had become slow and laboured, when the sound of Lang’s heavy arrival jerked him into a state of strained alertness.

He saw that Lang had discarded his rumpled coat, and was wearing a well-cut blazer and flannels. On his feet he was wearing rubber deck-shoes, and his pink cheeks glowed smoothly, with newly shaved spruceness.

‘Forgive the rig, old boy,’ he grinned. ‘Didn’t want to cut your nice decks up with my big beetle-crushers, and I think a nautical appearance is called for!’

Around their quiet haven of seclusion, the port was now fully awake, and the air was full of the clank and rattle of a windlass, as a small timber-ship resumed the work of unloading. The walls of the harbour echoed to the stamp of feet, and the sliding grind of fish boxes, as they were trundled along the fish quay for the waiting boats.

Vivian left the saloon, and mounted the steps to the wheelhouse. He picked up the glasses from their rack, and trained them on the busy figures of the seamen and sweating dock labourers. As the faces sprang up in the powerful lenses, he studied them carefully, and then discarded them. Eventually, he turned his eyes to the hotels and seafront boarding-houses, watching the flapping beach towels hanging from the window sills, and the bathing suits drying from yesterday’s swimming. God, somewhere out there, they’ve got her! He could picture her so clearly, still in her bathing suit, that he pounded the teak panelling with sick frustration.