by Derek Fee
A man holding a television camera with a large ESPN embossed on its side backed through the crowd while beside him another fellow held a boom microphone. The object of their interest was a fortyish, six-footer in jeans and white sweatshirt, with a baseball cap perched on the top of his long brown curls. A beautiful red-headed girl carrying a clipboard and a couple of beefy individuals who looked the definition of bodyguards completed the entourage.
Tom and Doc arrived at Morweena’s side.
“Who or what is that?” Tom asked.
“Doug Jackson,” Morweena said as though no further explanation was necessary.
Jackson was smiling and nodding at various personalities in the crowd.
“And who is Doug Jackson?” Tom asked. “The only time I’ve witnessed such gobsmacked consternation was when Leeds United won the league.”
“You’re kidding? You really don’t know who Doug Jackson is?” Morweena’s face was lit by a smile.
Tom shook his head.
“Surely even in the wilds of Leeds, everybody has heard of Doug Jackson.”
“I don’t get to watch much television. Except for the football.”
“Well, Doug is only one of the most famous TV and film personalities around today and one look at him tells you why. He’s a dish.”
Kane could see that Morweena’s opinion was shared by pretty much every other female in the room.
“Doug plays a tough-guy policeman in a series called ‘Vegas Cops’. All fast cars and even faster women. He’s done more to put the sport of powerboat racing on the map than anyone else. Most of the spectators for Sunday’s race will be there to catch a glimpse of him. And he’s not just a pretty face. He won the World Championship two years ago.”
Kane couldn’t believe this was the same tough Morweena. All he could see before him was gushing hero worship.
“Morweena, great to see you.” Jackson made a beeline for their little group and threw his arms around her. “How come that damn stupid manager of mine can’t get you onto my team? I’ve told him you’re my number one priority.
“Oh, Doug,” Morweena gushed, extricating herself from Jackson’s bear hug. “I don’t think you’ve met Tom Bell, he’s our team sponsor.”
“Good to meet you, Tom.” Jackson grabbed the Yorkshireman’s hand in a warm handshake. “I hope you’ve become a convert.”
“This is Mark Kane, our driver, and Doc Watson, one of our mechanics.”
Jackson shook both men warmly by the hand. The actor’s smile was infectious and Kane took an instant liking to him. Wilfred Micklejohn could quite easily be a wimp from the West End of London but a man with a name like Doug Jackson could only be a hunk.
Jackson looked closely at Kane. “I have two Las Vegas cops that drill me and you have the same hard look in your eyes. You and I should crack a beer together. I have this feeling that you’ll be the man to beat this year?”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Kane said and Jackson burst out laughing.
“I’ll knock some fun out of you, Mark,” Jackson said. One of the handlers approached and whispered in the actor’s ear. Doug Jackson was beginning to spend too much time in the company of the ‘little people’.
A quick flash of anger passed across Jackson’s face but was instantly banished by his practised smile. “I gotta split right now,” Jackson said indicating the video camera. “The director thinks I should be outlined against the lights of Naples. Catch you at the practice runs tomorrow. You take care of that little girl, Mark. She’s real special.”
They all watched as Jackson walked to the balcony where the television crew had set up. As promised, Jackson was placed against the backdrop of the glittering lights of Naples and a microphone was pointed at his mouth.
“Life in a goldfish bowl,” Morweena said taking in the scene.
“There are lots of people who’d change places with him,” Kane said.
She smiled her dazzling smile. “If you envy Doug Jackson, you’ll have to join a very long queue.”
“Who said that I envied him? I pity the poor bloke. All the money in the world wouldn’t pay me to have people watching my every move. Surrounded by a group of hangers-on who are waiting to disappear as soon as things begin to go sour. Have you ever seen a shark?”
“Of course I have.”.
“Then you probably know that it’s surrounded by a shoal of parasitic fish called suckerfish. They live by cleaning scraps of food from the shark’s teeth. Even though they swim around in the shark’s mouth he never eats one. They need each other. No, right now all I envy about Doug Jackson is the fact that he’s already won the World Championship. I don’t know the guy but I think that your friend Jackson might envy the likes of you and me sometimes.”
Her brow furrowed as she stared at him. “Loner, martial arts expert, natural powerboat driver, and now part-time homespun philosopher. You’re a strange fish, Mark Kane. It’s weird but we’ve been working closely together for the past few weeks and I still haven’t got a handle on who you really are. Lots of clues but they don’t seem to point at a real person. No feelings, no humanity.”
“What you see is what you get.”
“I very much doubt it. And I doubt that I’ll ever really know you unless you decide that you want me to.”
“Isn’t that the same with everyone?”
“I suppose so.”
“Now that you know a few people I can leave you to your own devices,” she said quietly. “These parties tend to go on for quite a while but don’t forget we have practice tomorrow.” She turned on her heels and walked away from him.
He watched her as she crossed the room. He wanted to follow but held himself in check. Morweena was getting to him big time and that was perilous, for them both.
Chapter Seventeen
David Penhalion felt rather than saw Dinos Karakatis standing at his shoulder.
“Good evening, David.” Karakatis’ English was sibilant and heavily accented.
“Good evening, Mr Karakatis,” David said coldly.
“Call me Dinos, please.” The smile would have chilled the blood of a grizzly bear. The Greek shipping magnate was dressed in an expensive silk lightweight suit which fit his short blocky body to perfection. The face was swarthy and classically Levantine. A face straight out of the Arabian Nights topped off with a thatch of salt and pepper hair. Karakatis was the living proof that the Turks left more behind in Greece than a taste for thick acrid coffee and a liking for honeyed sweets.
David didn’t respond.
“And how is business at the renowned Penhalion Marine?” Karakatis asked with a false smile which showed a set of perfect white teeth.
“You should know better than most. I understand that you’ve been making discreet enquiries as to the financial situation of the company.”
“It is obvious that my enquiries were not discreet enough. Now that my interest in your business is no secret, perhaps we could discuss the terms you consider fair for the purchase of the yard. Terms which should, of course, be based on the current level of business. You should understand that no matter what, I intend to own your boatyard.”
“That would be completely out of the question. The Penhalion yard is not for sale. Ever.” David could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth had gone suddenly dry. He tried to convince himself that the Greek was simply a businessman looking for the main chance. But he knew that Karakatis was a leech. He attached himself to ailing businesses and then bled them dry. His interest in Penhalion Marine preyed on David’s mind. It would be considered the kiss of death in many circles.
“That’s not what I’ve been led to believe. My advisers have compiled a complete dossier on the Penhalion boatyard. The wolves are at the door but you appear to be too deaf to hear them howling. You know, David, my parents were kicked out of Smyrna in 1922 with only the clothes on their backs. And they never forgot the experience. Since then, we have managed to build up one of the most impressive tanker f
leets in the world. There is no reason why you should fear me taking over your company. I have no intention of breaking it up for the assets. The name Penhalion is synonymous with quality and it would be my intention to build on that good reputation. If you do not wish me to buy your business outright, perhaps you would accept a loan from me to cover your present financial difficulties.”
“I don’t think so. You’re right, the name Penhalion does stand for something. We’ve been in Cornwall since anyone can remember and we’re proud. I have no intention of allowing you or anyone else to use the Penhalion name. I don’t think I could live with myself if I let you and your kind stencil the name Penhalion on some tub that was run up in a yard somewhere on the other side of the world. As to your offer of a loan, I’d sooner do business with the devil. I think he’d treat me fairer.”
“You misunderstand me. I am simply trying to add another jewel to the Karakatis crown. Your ailing yard would be synergetic to some of my businesses so an uncontested takeover would be in everybody’s interest. I have no intention of screwing you totally, David. You’ll still have a few pounds left when I’ve finished with you.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Very well, have it your own way. I can either buy the yard from you or from the receiver. Either way will serve my ends.”
“You’ll own Penhalion Marine over my rotting corpse.”
“Very possibly.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Penhalions, father and daughter, sat in the corner of the back room of Parrucchiana, the local ‘in’ restaurant. David had eased his bulky frame into a chair which had been set under a giant rubber tree. The decor of the Parrucchiana was tropical garden, plants drooping huge leaves towards the diners from every angle. The powerboat set had moved on from the cocktails and had dispersed into the villages along the coast. Those requiring greater anonymity had already rounded the Amalfi Coast and were nestling in some discreet trattoria in the quaint fishing village of Positano.
Morweena had scoured the second floor of the Sorrento Palace searching for Kane before she had agreed to join her father for dinner. It was infuriatingly normal that their driver was nowhere to be found.
“That’s the bottom line, Morweena.” David dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He had demolished a huge plate of the restaurant’s speciality, spaghetti aglio, olio e peperoni. “Tom has agreed to keep us afloat until the end of the year but after that, we’re on our own. Trying to break into the offshore powerboat business will probably prove a bridge too far for the boatyard. We’re hung out to dry on this one. The vultures have been gathering for the past few months led by the biggest fattest vulture of them all, Constantinos Karakatis.”
“You can’t give up the business without a fight. I’ve got some money saved that I could put in.” Morweena covered his great paw with her hand. “Why don’t you let me help you out.”
“You really are the most precious child a man ever had.” David lifted her hand and kissed it. “Your offer is most gracious but I’m afraid we’re talking about real money to keep Penhalion Marine afloat. You keep whatever money you’ve saved for yourself. There’s no point in throwing good money after bad. However misplaced, your confidence in the current faltering management is appreciated.”
“If anyone can turn the situation around you can,” Morweena said, stroking the back of her father’s hand. He was the ultimate contradiction. A gentle creature trapped in the body of a giant. When people met him for the first time, they inevitably felt intimidated by his size. Only when they got to know him did they see that the physical presence had nothing to do with the man inside. Ever since she could remember, she had felt privileged to be his daughter and it hurt her deeply to see him in such pain over the fate of the damn boatyard. Although she had no proof of it, she was sure that Penhalion Marine had been the source of heartache for generations of Penhalion women.
“I’d love to agree.” David signalled for the waiter to remove the detritus. “I’m afraid I’ve let you all down.”
“Where’s that famous Penhalion resilience? Weren’t you always telling me how the family had clung to their little piece of Cornwall no matter what adversity they suffered? It’s not like you to give up without one hell of a fight. We’re on the eve of the first race in the championship and you’ve already thrown the towel in. That’s not the David Penhalion I know.”
He looked at his daughter’s beautiful face. “I sometimes realise how lucky I am to have you as a daughter. It’s like looking at Amanda thirty years ago. The same shaped face, the nose, the ears; all carbon copies of your mother. The only feature I’ve bequeathed are the light blue Penhalion eyes. And how they sparkle. “You’re right of course. We can’t give up.” He made room for the waiter to deposit a huge plate of veal parmigiana and a side helping of fried broccoli. “Time to dispel all this doom and gloom. We’ve been holed but not below the waterline. Perhaps there’ll be a miracle of some sort. A few points in the championship could put us back on the map again.” He smiled at his daughter and squeezed her hand before launching an attack on his main course. “Let’s not dwell on it this evening. Was I mistaken or did I see that there was a bit of a fracas between our new driver and your former boyfriend? You know I was dismayed when you took up with Barrett. It was obvious to a blind man that he was no good but that type of individual always seems to have an attraction that the genuine article lacks. Like most women, you fancy the bad boy.”
“Graham was being his usual obnoxious self. I don’t think that his ego took too kindly to my walking out on him. It all ended peacefully enough.” She stared into her father’s kindly face. “You were right about Graham. I was a bloody fool and it had taken a jolt of realism to get her away from a man who had proved to be the very devil himself. Everything about our relationship was a nightmare.” A picture of a jean-clad Kane flitted through Morweena’s mind. He was not exactly the stuff that miracles were made of. More like a character from a Clint Eastwood movie. A tall attractive stranger whose background was as murky as Falmouth Bay on a cold blustery winter’s day. Were they really depending on a totally untried stranger for the survival of her father’s business? We must be bloody mad, she thought as she watched her father purr as he chewed on a piece of veal. However, she wouldn’t exacerbate her father’s mood and possibly ruin his dinner by casting doubts on their new driver.
For the rest of the meal, David was in excellent spirits. She couldn’t remember seeing her father behaving in such a light-hearted manner in quite some time. The years rolled away and she felt like a child again listening to her father’s stories of yachts and yachting, races won and lost, and old rivalries between the sailors of Cornwall and Devon. She had forgotten how entertaining he could be. The time slipped by as they talked and finished their meal.
“Home to bed for me, my girl.” David’s face was ruddy from the combined effects of Chianti and Grappa. “Got to be up early tomorrow to help the boys run through the final checks.”
She eased back her chair. “I’ll get them to call us a taxi.”
“No need for you to accompany me.” He pushed himself to his feet and his head disappeared into a clutch of rubber plant leaves.
Father and daughter laughed. He stuck his head out from the leaves. “The night is young, why don’t you go out and enjoy yourself?”
“I’d prefer to go back to the hotel if that’s okay with you.”
“Right.” He dropped a couple of high denomination euro notes on the table and left. “Forget the taxi. We’ll go on foot. I need to walk off some of that fantastic pasta.”
The lady seated at the front desk smiled knowingly as the older gentleman with the young lady linking his arm strode through the restaurant and out the front door. Such sights were normal in Sorrento which had been the discreet haunt of rich Neapolitans for centuries.
Even though it was still early summer town was already beginning to throb to the beat of the tourists who annually swamped it. The centre had already tak
en on the seedy appearance which seemed to be a consequence of the arrival of the package tourist. The Charlie Chaplin pub promised ‘bangers and mash’ like mother used to make, all washed down with pints of Watney’s Red Barrel. Seedy though the scene was, Morweena loved the Mediterranean feel of the place. The warm evening breeze and the strident voices of the young Italians setting off to woo the local or foreign senoritas all represented summer and easy living to her mind. They glanced into the shop windows on the Via San Cesareo wondering how the normal Italian could possibly afford the ridiculously inflated prices.
They continued into the Piazza Tasso where the whole of Sorrento seemed to be congregated in the outdoor cafés. Groups of gaily dressed teenagers stood on every available square inch of pathway taking the first steps in the courtship ritual.
Morweena looked at the corner of the piazza where a queue had formed under the canopy bearing the legend ‘Nite-Klub’. Her eyes were drawn to a group which was being admitted by a large dress-suited bouncer. One of the figures was more than familiar.
“That bastard.”
David followed his daughter’s gaze and saw Kane disappearing down the steps into the basement with Doug Jackson’s clipboard girl in tow.
“That rotten bloody bastard.” Disappointment formed like a lump in Morweena’s stomach.
Kane and the red-haired girl had disappeared but she still stared at the edge of the stairway where they had been standing moments before.
“I didn’t realise that you had an arrangement with Mark,” David said in a mock surprise tone.
“Arrangement!” She spat the word out as though there was something dirty in her mouth. “I wouldn’t give that bastard the time of day.”
“Perhaps you should join Mark and his new friend. After all, it’s much too early for a young girl like yourself to be going home to bed.”
She caught the tone in her father’s voice and realised she was wearing her emotions on her sleeve. “I would normally, but I’m really quite bushed.” She worked to keep the anger out of her voice.
