by Jack Treby
Harry shrugged. Women were a “dime a dozen” as far as he was concerned. ‘It was nothing serious, old man. Besides. it’s difficult to compete when your body’s at the bottom of the Atlantic. I figure she’ll be good for him. Keeping the guy away from temptation.’
‘The gambling, you mean?’ I rolled my eyes and took another sip of brandy and tea. ‘He just has to learn, everything in moderation.’
Harry would not be shedding too many tears for Miss Wellesley. He had already found a replacement, by all accounts. That was what had brought him down to Brighton in the first place.
At the moment, however, he was eyeing my newspaper, which I had left folded on the table. ‘You see they commuted the sentence, for Hopkins?’
‘Yes, he was very lucky. I think it was the reverend who made the difference. Hamilton-Baynes. Speaking up for him like that. It was a brave thing to do, after losing his wife.’
‘Yeah, he’s a decent guy.’
‘If only he would shave off that ridiculous beard. The maid, Miss Simpkins, she was there as well, to see it all happen. Kept herself together. Rather surprised me, actually. She says she’s going to stick by him. Mr Hopkins, I mean. She’s going to wait for him.’
‘Do you think she will?’
‘I think she believes it. But twenty-five years is a long time.’
Harry took another swig of brandy, ‘So how was the trial, anyway? Armstrong didn’t say much. I only read the reports in the paper.’
‘It was pretty grim,’ I said.
‘I can’t believe you actually testified.’
‘I didn’t have a choice. I was the principal witness. Believe me, it was the last thing I wanted, appearing in public like that. At the Old Bailey for goodness sake. I was terrified someone would recognise me, being dead and all. Well, you’d know all about that.’
‘Sure. So what did you do?’
‘Everything I could. Put on a pair of glasses and a false moustache, and hoped the court room artist would do a really bad job. I am happy to say he obliged.’ I chuckled at the memory. I could laugh about it now, but at the time I had been a bundle of nerves. ‘And so far as the press were concerned, I was the mysterious “Mr X”.’
‘Yeah, I saw that.’ Harry grinned. ‘You must have pulled a few strings to make that happen.’
‘Oh, I did. Had to go to Kensington on my knees. An audience with the Colonel, no less.’ My former boss at MI5. ‘He was pleased to see me, anyway. I still have a bit of currency in London, believe it or not.’ The Zeppelin business the year before had put me in good stead with the powers that be. ‘They asked about you.’
Harry put down his flask. ‘I figured they might. What did you tell them?’
‘The truth.’ I raised my hand as Harry made to protest. ‘They already knew, Harry.’ I would hardly have betrayed his confidence otherwise. ‘Don’t ask me how, but they knew you were alive. You might pull the wool over the eyes of a few mobsters, but this is the British secret service. They’re not so easily fooled. You should know that by now. You’ve worked for them.’
‘Yeah, a long time ago.’
‘And you weren’t going to keep this a secret forever, now, were you?’
‘I guess not.’ Harry shrugged. ‘It would have been nice to lie low for a year or two. Things are a lot easier when nobody’s looking over your shoulder. But I guess it’s no big deal. I’m in the clear with the mob.’
‘They fell for it?’
‘Those two goons of theirs. They got off the ship at Southampton, had a little walk around and then got straight back on again. Didn’t see me slip away. Just headed right home to New York. I don’t think I’ll be seeing them again.’
I drained my tea cup. ‘You’ve had a lucky escape, Harry. I hope you’ve learnt your lesson.’
‘Oh, sure, sure. Next time, I’ll be more careful.’ He grinned and raised his canteen.
‘So what’s all this about a girl you’ve met?’ I was wary of asking, but it seemed only polite. Harry had mentioned the young woman when he had first got in touch.
‘Her name’s Constance. A real looker. Nineteen years old and loaded too.’
I laughed. ‘You dirty devil.’
‘Oh, it’s all above board, old man. Her family lives down here in Brighton. They’ve invited me over for the weekend.’
‘You have your foot in the door, then?’
‘Well and truly. I’m an eccentric millionaire. A property tycoon from New Jersey.’
‘Of course you are. Lord, Harry. You don’t change, do you?’ I had the sneaking suspicion some rather expensive jewellery was going to go missing in the next few days.
‘A guy’s got to earn a living. And what about you? You’re not going to settle down here for the rest of your life, are you?’ He gestured vaguely to the room, but he meant the town, of course.
‘I’m not altogether sure. It’s been nice to have a bit of peace and quiet. The Colonel says he might have a little work for me, in due course, but I’m not sure if I can be bothered with all that. I’ve had my fill of secret service work.’ I sighed. ‘The money would come in handy, though. I can’t afford all this luxury indefinitely.’
Harry chuckled. ‘Hey, I might just be able to help you with that.’
I waved my hands at him. ‘Oh no, I’m not getting involved in any of your schemes.’ Whatever he was up to with this young woman, I wanted nothing to do with it. ‘I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.’
‘Don’t worry, old man. I’m not trying to rope you into anything. You deserve a bit of a rest, after all you’ve been through. I just figured I owed you a favour, that’s all. That’s why I stopped by.’
I laughed again. ‘You mean you came all this way, out of the goodness of your heart, just to pay off a debt?’
‘Well, of course. I always pay my debts.’
‘Eventually,’ I conceded. ‘But usually at the point of a gun.’
‘Not this time, old man. This couldn’t wait. Like I say, I was coming down here anyway, and I thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone; pass on a bit of useful intelligence.’
‘Intelligence?’ My eyes narrowed. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.
‘Give me that paper, will you?’ He gestured to the Times. Dubiously, I handed the newspaper across. He unfolded it and found the page he was looking for; then pulled a pencil from his jacket pocket and circled a small area of text. He handed the paper back to me and I looked down at it, a slow smile spreading across my face. ‘The three o’clock at Newmarket,’ he said. ‘Put everything you’ve got on “Coster Boy”.’
Acknowledgements
The RMS Galitia is a fictional ship but I have based it closely on a real life Cunard liner, the RMS Aquitania, which was in service between 1914 and 1950. I am indebted to Mark Chirnside for his book “RMS Aquitania - The Ship Beautiful” (The History Press 2008) and to the British Library for copies of the ship’s early promotional material. Special thanks to jclarkdawe, bolero and several others on AbsoluteWrite for providing many extra details. Thanks also to my beta readers, Steve and Gemma, and to my family for their continued support. Finally, thanks to the Times Archive for the racing results. Coster Boy came in at 30-1.
Jack Treby
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