The Defector

by Mark Chisnell

  ‘That'd be nice,’ I said encouragingly, ‘spend some time together, get to know each other again. I'd really like that Kate.’

  She was picking at the label on the bottle, staring at the floor, then she looked up, suddenly intense, ‘We're leaving the day after tomorrow.’

  I felt a sudden chill.

  I stared at her, and she looked away, ‘You're leaving?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she hesitated, uncertain tone, ‘I have to, I didn't realise it would be quite so soon. But we have to get the boat up to Hong Kong for the next regatta. It's a long trip and Scott wants to get it done...’ she tailed off. Her ring was tapping against the bottle in the silence, ‘He kind of moved it forward...he wants to get out of here...’ she stopped, but tense, something she wasn't saying. Scott had seen the note. He was taking her away.

  I felt light headed, distant. Aware of the silence, its growing awkwardness. But detached, unable to do anything about it. So much I wanted to say. Nowhere to start. I couldn't look at her.

  ‘There's a party,’ she was speaking again, I dragged my eyes up. She looked sad, ‘tonight. It's the regatta prizegiving. Why don't you come along? We may not get many other chances to see each other.’

  Christ, a party. Just what I needed. ‘I don't know, I'm...’ I shrugged.

  She stood, put the bottle down, ‘I've got to go send some faxes and organise a couple of things. Why don't you think about it. There's plenty of time. I'll be half an hour or so, there's more beer in the fridge, some food. If you want to come with us, maybe take a shower, shave, whatever. Scott's stuff is all there, shirts, everything.’ I nodded, looking away, no idea what to say. I felt her touch my hand, ‘Martin, I'm sorry. Let's just try and have a good time tonight hey?’ Then she was gone.

  I sat on the chair, dazed, unaware of anything around me, taking occasional, mechanical sips from the rapidly warming beer in my hands. Trying to catch up. I was safe. That was first. That was good. I was with Kate. That was good too. But Scott was getting her the hell out of here as fast as he could. I stared around the room for the first time, noticing the hum of the a/c, the sterile air. The hotel chain anonymity of the place was shaded everywhere by reminders of Scott's presence. A pile of clothes in the corner, oilskins on the wallhooks, boots by the door. I finished the beer, got up and went through to the bathroom. She was right about the shave.

  By the time Kate came back I was feeling better. Cleaned up and half-way through a packet of beernuts I'd found. She threw a pile of folders and loose papers onto the bed I was lounging on.

  ‘How do I look?’ I'd put on the chinos and a polo shirt I'd bought earlier.

  ‘Much better, perfect.’ she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Friends. ‘You've decided to come to the party?’

  I nodded, mouth full.

  ‘Great.’ she smiled, glanced at her watch, ‘I'd better get ready.’ she was already pulling the tee shirt off as she disappeared into the bathroom.

  I listened to the hiss of water, got myself another beer. Found a bar of chocolate. Eventually the shower stopped. ‘Where's Scott?’ I shouted through.

  The bathroom door opened, ‘Sorry?’ came her voice.

  ‘Scott. Where is he?’ I repeated.

  ‘Still at the boat, they had some work to do. I just went to the top of the road to look, they're still there.’

  They didn't look like they were working when I left, I thought. She emerged from the bathroom wearing one small towel and rubbing her hair with another. She still took my breath away.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, towelling furiously.

  ‘Six thirty.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she looked annoyed, ‘he's going to be late if he doesn't hurry up.’

  ‘What time do we have to leave by?’

  ‘Seven.’

  I shrugged with a bad attempt at nonchalance.

  ‘He'll be here by the time I've dressed.’ she said confidently, and with a swirl of golden blond hair she disappeared back into the bathroom.

  More sounds of drying, the clink of glass bottles and lids. ‘Mind if I smoke.’ I said, needing a distraction.

  She stuck her head round the door, ‘You haven't started again?’

  ‘Just.’ I managed a half-smile as I picked up the packet, waved them at her.

  ‘Yeah, go ahead, I'll have one in a minute. Can you pass me that dress on the bed.’ she said, disappearing back into the bathroom.

  I looked at the black dress, it seemed a rather ambitious description, there wasn't enough cloth there for a skirt, never mind a dress. I picked it up and bashfully handed it into the bathroom with an outstretched arm.

  ‘That's very gentlemanly, not like you at all.’ said Kate, taking the garment from me.

  ‘I'm a changed man.’ I replied, retiring back to the comparative safety of the sofa. I lit the cigarette.

  ‘You are? Tell me about that. You still haven't said why you left England and don't want to go back.’

  That was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now. I sucked on the cigarette nervously. ‘Maybe later.’

  There was a grunt of dissatisfaction, ‘You have at least phoned your family?’

  ‘No. What would I say, 'Hey Dad, you may read about me in the papers soon, being shot by some drug smugglers.'‘

  ‘Martin, it's over.’ she peered round the door. I just looked at her. Not feeling so cooperative now. She shook her head, ‘We need to get you to the party.’ She disappeared, then emerged from the bathroom a few seconds later and turned round to be zipped up.

  ‘I haven't done this for a while.’ I said, neutrally, fumbling with the zip with a shaking hand.

  ‘I can tell.’ she replied, then, spinning round with a flourish, ‘Tadaa. How do I look?’

  I took in the vision with one long, longing gaze, ‘Breathtaking.’ I whispered with a sad smile.

  She giggled, ‘No, you haven't changed.’

  ‘Kate...’ I started, then stopped. ‘Drink?’ I asked, quickly. I had to keep it light.

  ‘Oh, yeah, beer please.’ She slid past me and reached for a packet of cigarettes on the coffee table. I held out my own, she took it and used it to light hers. She sat down on the bed again. I fetched another bottle from the fridge, passed it over and sat back on the sofa opposite.

  ‘So tell me about you Kate?’ I said, eventually.

  ‘Well,’ she took a thoughtful sip of the beer, ‘I'm officially the cook on Gold, but the responsibilities are pretty limited. They've cut back the budget a lot, but despite that the crew are still put up in hotels and fed in the restaurant. I only have to do the food for racing and the delivery trips. It's pretty dumb, the $40,000 hotel bill would pay for a couple of new spinnakers and three more professional delivery crew. But that's corporate sponsorship for you. No idea where to spend the money in something they know nothing about. And can they be told? No chance. It makes life pretty easy though. The downside is the money. I get paid nothing until they're racing or on delivery. Sitting around in the dock working on the boat just burns up my savings.’

  ‘But you've got Scott,’ I said, cautiously.

  She gave me one of those looks, ‘He's not my keeper.’

  I nodded, ‘No, of course. So are the budget cuts the problems you were talking about in Ko Samui?’

  ‘Yeah, part of it. You sure you want to hear about that, it's pretty dull for an outsider?’ a casual drag on the cigarette.

  Whilst I flinched at the implication, ‘Yes, of course I do.’ I said, encouragingly.

  ‘I guess it starts with Duval. He's the racing skipper of Gold, those are the guys in the public eye, the glamour boys who do the interviews. Only the skippers get the serious money in this game because they're the people who can bring in the publicity for the sponsor. And often, to be fair, they put all the time and money into finding the sponsor in the first place. But sometimes they aren't even the best sailors on the boat. So much of the real work is done by the people in the background and they get so little rewar
d for it.’

  ‘People like Scott?’ I said, intrigued that she was worried at someone else getting a better deal than Scott. Materialism wasn't exactly her big thing three years ago.

  ‘Yeah. He's more than capable of skippering the boat, but there's all this other stuff involved, mainly finding the sponsor and dealing with them at the top corporate level. And ironically they're exactly the people, like my father, that I ran away from.’ she took a big sigh and brushed her hair back away from her eyes. ‘I've been trying to help him with that stuff. So he can make the step up and get his own boat for the next race. But the situation has got much worse recently because Scott has got to the point where he's a threat to Duval. He's very popular with the crew and the story goes around a lot that he sails the boat. It's starting to affect Duval's image and we think he wants to get rid of Scott. So now Scott is embroiled in this huge political fight, just to keep any job, never mind get a better one.’

  I sipped at my beer as she went on, ‘This has all built up over a while and in the last couple of weeks has exploded. Duval's been in England looking for another sponsor, because Gold have just decided that they will pull out in three months time, after the regatta in Hong Kong. We heard from some mates back in Hamble that he was also trying to hire a replacement for Scott, once he has the new sponsor in place.’

  ‘This is for the Whitbread Round the World Race?’

  She nodded, ‘It starts in September this year. So there isn't much time. Gold have found someone that might buy the boat and run it for the next race. Their people are coming out here to meet everyone and talk through the deal. Using some contacts of my father's I discovered that they want a clean slate. Start afresh, no one is guaranteed a job, not even Duval. So I've managed to set-up a meeting with them for Scott, where he can pitch to them as a potential new skipper. We were working on the proposal in Ko Samui. They're all arriving in town tonight. Duval's meeting them at the airport and taking them off to dinner somewhere, presumably to pitch his proposal. Tomorrow's our big day. It's shit or bust now. Duval knows about our meeting. If he gets the money Scott will definitely be out on his arse after Hong Kong.’ She took a final drag on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke cloud slowly, staring into space, before she stubbed it out. ‘And vice versa.’ she added, in a hard voice.

  I nodded, silent, but thoughtful. The ambition, the planning, it wasn't like Kate. She had changed.

  She glanced at her watch again. ‘I don't know where Scott's got to, but we should probably go anyway. He must still be on the boat.’ She got up and picked the key off the dresser, ‘Come on, let's go party.’

  Chapter 12

  The party was in the yacht club and we walked there in silence, lost in our own thoughts. It was a low brick building, sprawled across a park, from the road down to the water. The hubbub of voices grew as we got closer, and I could see that the party had spilled out onto the terrace. Kate avoided the club and headed towards the water's edge. We stopped under a tree, staring out towards the dark and silent shape of 'Gold'.

  ‘Damn him, he's gone straight to the party, didn't even bother to phone me,’ she said, quietly.

  I let the words dissipate. Then said, ‘It's a beautiful evening.’ and it was. The boats sitting quietly at their moorings, with just the odd slap of a halyard or bang of a fender on the pontoons. The water glowing in the last of the sunlight, sound from the party diffused by the warmth and humidity.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, looking up at me and smiling, ‘Yes it is,’ and she took my hand and led me into the club.

  We entered through a side gate, standing for a moment to survey the scene. On our left was the marina, with boats four deep on the nearest docks. In front was a large, open terrace, a sea of cheerful expressions and florid movement. At the far end a band was setting up. Off to the right was the bar, and set-back from that was an open dining room. Kate stepped forward, I followed, and we were quickly swallowed up by the crowd. I caught snatches of meaningless conversation in a babel of English. The men wore variations on a theme; polo shirts, docksiders, jeans or chinos with lots of bleached hair. The occasional tie and blazer was the only concession to formality. The women had tried harder, there were little black dresses and sparkling, made-up smiles everywhere. Kate drifted through them, moving easily; turning heads, absorbing greetings, a nod here, a word there, but never stopping.

  Finally, she found what she had been looking for, at the far end of the terrace by the band. There was Scott, with a bunch of other guys, all still dressed in grubby shorts and tee shirts. They must have got there straight from the boat. Kate stopped when she saw them, pulling back into the crowd.

  ‘What's wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘Scott's drunk.’ her voice was tight, annoyed.

  I smiled, despite trying to be concerned. Everybody was drunk. But Scott did seem to have pushed the boat out a little bit further than anybody else. His face was flushed, swaying unsteadily, traces of most of the evening's consumption down his shirt.

  ‘Come on, I'm not talking to him while he's in that state.’ she said, leading the way back towards the main bar.

  I put my arm round her, she was tense with anger, ‘Hey relax. You and I were going to have a good time, remember?’ I said, lightly.

  She nodded, managed a smile, ‘You're right.’ unwinding a little under my arm.

  ‘I'll get us some drinks.’ I said. I left her and fought my way to the bar. It took forever to get served, and by the time I returned to where I had left Kate, there was no sign of her. If there is one way to feel foolish in a bar, it's standing with a pint in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, looking for a girl that has, self-evidently to anyone watching, found something better to do than wait for your return. This depressing emotion lasted for about ten seconds before I felt a touch at my elbow. With a rush of relief I turned, it was Kate.

  ‘Quick! Come with me.’ Real panic in her voice and her face.

  ‘What about these?’ I held up the drinks.

  ‘Leave them.’ already she was moving off through the crowd, heading towards the restaurant. I dropped the drinks on the nearest table and struggled to keep up as she explained in staccato bursts over her shoulder, ‘It's Duval, with the new sponsors, he's brought them here, the sneaky bastard! We've got to keep them away from Scott. If they see him in that state it's all over.’ She indicated a group of noticeably over-dressed men. Suits. About twenty yards away, looking as if they felt as out of place as they were, ‘I recognised that guy with the grey jacket, while you were getting the drinks. He's a friend of my father's. I went to check it out and found the whole lot of them.’

  We were only a few yards away by now, Kate slowed her pace as one of them caught sight of her, ‘Peter, what a surprise, I didn't expect to see you here this evening,’ she began. He was silent, looking disconcerted. Kate carried on, ‘I'd like to introduce you to an old friend of mine from England, Peter Duval this is Martin Cormac, Martin, Peter.’

  I took the proferred hand, but he clearly wasn't interested in me. The pale blue eyes were cold, charmless, and they flickered nervously back towards Kate even as he shook my hand. She was turning that dazzling smile onto the group of men. A mixed bunch of age and build, they were nevertheless all flattered by the attention. Then, with eyebrows slightly raised and a quick but enquiring glance at Duval, she forced him to introduce us.

  I took the opportunity provided by the round of introductions to study Duval. He was lightly built, wiry, I guess you'd say, with mousy brown hair that was just short enough to be respectable. Maybe five ten, with a sharp, angular face, battered by the sun. He looked uncomfortable in the shirt and tie. But it was the voice which was the most distracting feature, an unfortunate, grating nasal whine. It wouldn't make him easy to like. I tuned back in on the conversation as Kate was introduced to what, fading business antenna notwithstanding, appeared the most senior member of the group.

  ‘Kate, this is Mr Monterey, CEO of Rollen's Tobacco,’ the speaker was the g
rey jacket Kate had already pointed out, ‘Kate is Wallace's daughter, she's out here with that other chap we're seeing tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course. Your father is a fine man, I'm delighted to meet you my dear,’ he said, all distinguished silver mane and ample girth, ‘perhaps you'd like to join us for dinner. I believe Mr Duval has booked us a table.’ he looked enquiringly at Duval, who was squirming, but could hardly refuse. This obviously wasn't part of his plan. So far Kate was ahead on points. She half-turned to me, and the old boy was quick to include me in the invite. A waiter arrived and we proceeded over to a corner table in the dining room.

  As we got to the table the band started up outside. I looked back at the mass of humanity in the main bar. The combination of the music and shouted conversation gave it the atmosphere of a cheap nightclub rather than an expensive yacht club. Duval had taken a chance bringing these people here. I moved in to sit next to Kate. She in turn was beside Monterey. Someone was ordering a couple of bottles of champagne. As we sat down she hissed in my ear, ‘Duval has set this up deliberately. He knows Scott'll be pissed. He's brought them here so Scott can make a fool of himself. You have to help me. Go and find Scott and get him out of here.’

  ‘Me? Don't be ridiculous. I'm the last person he'd listen to!’

  ‘Find a guy called Ben, everybody knows him, he's the mate on the boat. Tell him the deal, he'll know what to do.’

  ‘Jesus Kate.’

  She squeezed my arm, ‘Please.’ imploring blue eyes.

  Duval's nasal whine interrupted us from his position on the other side of Monterey, ‘So Kate, where is Scott tonight?’

  She turned away from me, and, talking less to Duval than Monterey, said, ‘Still working I'm afraid.’

  ‘But, it's the prize-giving?’ said Monterey.

  ‘The boat has to go up to Hong Kong the day after tomorrow, there's a lot to do to get it ready. I'm sure he would have been here if he'd known you were coming.’ she looked blackly at Duval, ‘Sometimes these events can get a little hectic. After your flight I'd have thought you might have preferred something quieter.’