The Flow itself was a bowl of blue sea, enclosed by the mountainous bulk of Hoy and a string of smaller, lower-lying islands. Dotted across it were the grey, recumbent warships of the German High Seas Fleet. They stopped to view the scene from the hill above Houton, where a nearly circular bay was ringed by the jetties, slipways, workshops and hangars of a seaplane base.
A seaplane was taking off as they arrived. Watching it, Max experienced a pang of nostalgia for the days when he had flown virtually daily. As it was, it had been two long years since he had heard the wind in the wires as he piloted a craft into the sky. Fortunately, Susan, looking round at him from the driver’s seat, interpreted his doleful shake of the head as a sign of mourning for his late brother.
‘Do you know where the Vanguard was when it happened, Max?’ she asked.
‘What?’ His reactions snapped into gear. ‘Oh yes. She was anchored off Flotta. There.’ He pointed to what he judged was the correct island. ‘It happened at night. There was no warning.’
‘You can be glad of that small mercy,’ said Selwyn. ‘At least your brother didn’t know he was about to die.’
Whether Susan sensed the same meaning as Max did in Selwyn’s words – that he had felt certain he was about to die on numerous occasions – was hard to tell.
‘There’s that, yes,’ Max acknowledged.
‘Was his body recovered?’
‘No.’ It seemed safest to deny there was a grave to visit. ‘But there’s a memorial to all the victims at the Naval Cemetery on Hoy. I plan to go and see it.’
‘A frightful thing,’ said Susan. ‘The death of so many – in an instant.’
‘When did you hear of it?’ asked Selwyn. ‘You said you were a prisoner of war by then.’
‘The camp commandant passed on the news. He added his condolences.’
‘He did?’
‘They were good about things like that.’ Max recalled as much from the manner in which other prisoners had received such tidings. The tactics of misrepresentation were beginning to become instinctive, he realized.
‘Perhaps you think we’re being too hard on them now we’ve won.’
Max wondered for a moment if Selwyn was trying to pick an argument. If so, he would be disappointed. ‘No, I don’t. They started it.’
‘Yes. And let’s not forget it.’
‘Well, perhaps we could forget it for the rest of the day,’ Susan suggested, her voice tightening slightly.
Selwyn had little choice but to agree. ‘You’re right, of course. Prehistory awaits us. Drive on, sis.’
The Ring of Brodgar stood on a hill halfway along an isthmus of land separating lochs Stenness and Harray. Only thirty-six of the original sixty stones remained, according to Selwyn, but he reckoned that was enough for his purposes. The site was breathtakingly lovely, with or without the monument. Spring flowers were scattered richly across the turf. The blue waters of the lochs mirrored the sky above. The air was cool and fragrant.
But Selwyn had no interest in the scenery. Ropes, ranging rods and a theodolite were unloaded and the survey work began. Max threw himself into the task, which consisted of measuring as precisely as they could the distances between the stones, their relative heights and the diameter of the circle they formed.
Or was it a circle? Selwyn revealed during a break back in the car for sandwiches and tea from a Thermos that the ring might actually be an ellipse. ‘The elliptical form lends itself more readily to the creation of Pythagorean triangles, you see,’ he explained, though naturally Max did not see.
‘The people who built this were familiar with Pythagoras?’
‘No. They pre-date him. That’s the wonder of it.’
‘But what—’
‘We’ll know more when I analyse the data.’
With that Selwyn was off, theodolite under arm, striding back towards the stones.
‘He doesn’t have the patience to explain it properly.’ Susan sighed. ‘But it’s all there in his head. And you’ve been such a sport. It goes much better with three.’
‘What does he think this circle – or ellipse – was for?’
‘Observation of the sun and moon for the determination of solstices and the prediction of eclipses. He’s detected precise alignments for just those purposes at all the sites we’ve been to.’
‘But building this in its original form must have been a massive undertaking. Think of the man-hours involved in quarrying and transporting the stones, let alone erecting them. It seems incredible.’
‘A few thousand years from now it’ll seem incredible men spent so much money killing one another on the Western Front for four years.’
Max smiled grimly. ‘I don’t think it’ll take anything like as long as that.’
Susan sighed. ‘No, it won’t, will it? Now, we’d better report back for duty. Selwyn’s beckoning rather petulantly.’
It took longer than Max had anticipated for the survey to be completed to Selwyn’s exacting standards. It was late afternoon when they started back to Kirkwall. Half a mile or so along the road they passed four standing stones which Selwyn believed to be all that remained of another, smaller circle. He proposed to return the following day to survey the site as best he could.
‘We may be able to establish its relationship with Brodgar. Care to lend a hand, again, Max?’
‘Do say you’ll come,’ Susan urged him.
But Max’s availability hinged on what Fontana had arranged for him. He could not afford to make any promises. ‘I’ll let you know in the morning. I might wake up as stiff as a board after the hard labour you’ve put me to.’ He had, in fact, already experienced several twinges from a month-old bullet wound in his side, but he did not propose to mention it.
‘That’s the problem with you RFC johnnies,’ said Selwyn. ‘No stamina.’
Selwyn laughed as he spoke, for the first time Max could recall. Susan’s surprised glance at her brother suggested she had not heard him laugh recently either. It seemed Max’s company really was good for him. As to whether he would have the advantage of it much longer . . .
‘We’ll see about that,’ Max said softly.
MAX TREATED HIMSELF to a large Scotch and a soothing bath back at the Ayre, then took himself off to the Kirkwall Hotel for dinner to forestall any invitation from the Hentys to dine with them. A harbourside stroll afterwards filled the time before his appointment with Fontana.
The back bar of the Albert was, as Fontana had predicted, crowded and noisy at that hour on a Saturday evening. A fiddler was adding zest to a bubbling sense of raucousness. Max had to bellow his order to the barman. He had already seen Fontana, installed at a corner table and foot-tapping along to the music like a man with nothing on his mind but gentle enjoyment of the local night life.
Six strapping American sailors were drinking enthusiastically at the bar, but they gave no sign of being acquainted with Fontana. They could, Max realized, have come from any one of the dozens of minesweepers out in the bay.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Max asked, gesturing to the spare chair as he approached Fontana’s table.
‘Not at all.’ Fontana smiled and slid the newspaper lying by his glass closer to him to make way.
Max sat down. ‘Cheers.’
‘Your health.’ They both took a drink.
‘Lively, isn’t it?’
‘You can say that again.’
‘You’re with the minesweepers?’
‘Yup. But we take it easy on Sundays, so tonight’s a chance to relax.’
‘Well earned, I’m sure.’
‘You’re not from round here yourself, are you? Don’t I detect an English accent?’
‘You do.’
‘Well, this is your trusty guide to what happens in these parts – or doesn’t.’ Fontana nodded to the newspaper between them. ‘The Orcadian. I’ve finished with it.’ He turned the paper so that it was facing Max. As he did so, he twitched up a corner to reveal an envelope that had been slipped inside. Th
en he dropped his voice to a level no one near by would be able to hear. ‘It’s a letter for the captain of the ship you’ll be taken to. From the boss.’
‘He didn’t tell me there’d be a letter.’
‘Well, there is. My guess is it contains something to ensure the captain’s compliance with whatever you’ll be asking of him.’
It sounded a good guess to Max, but he did not say so. ‘What have you arranged with—’
‘No names,’ Fontana interrupted. ‘Let’s keep it simple. Travel to Stromness on Monday. It’s the closest port to the German fleet. Book into a hotel for the night. There’s a building contractor’s yard north of the harbour. You’ll be met at the gate at half past midnight. I’ve secured you an hour aboard the ship. I was told that should be enough. You’ll be back in Stromness around two thirty. On Tuesday morning, you can take the mail steamer to Scrabster and head home, mission accomplished. Does that sound good to you?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’ Max could not help worrying about the letter. It was the first intimation he had had that Commander Schmidt might not be eager to cooperate. ‘How long have—’
‘Excuse me.’ A figure was standing by their table, holding a glass in one hand and a chair by its back in the other. Looking up, Max saw to his astonishment that it was Selwyn Henty. ‘There’s room for a third, isn’t there?’
‘Selwyn? What are you doing here?’
Selwyn twirled the chair round and sat down. He deposited his whisky glass on the table with a heavy clunk. Max’s initial impression was that he was more than a little drunk, although his words were not in the least slurred. He extended a hand towards Fontana. ‘Good evening. My name’s Selwyn Henty. Has Max mentioned me to you?’
‘No,’ said Fontana warily. ‘But we’ve, er, only just met.’
‘Is that so? Well, now I’m pleased to meet you.’ Fontana was more or less obliged to shake Selwyn’s hand. ‘And you are?’
‘Lieutenant Grant Fontana, United States Navy.’
‘A long way from home?’
‘Quite some way, yuh.’
‘Like me and Max. We’re all strangers here.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your kind of place, Selwyn,’ said Max, hoping though not necessarily believing that Selwyn’s presence in the Albert was just an unfortunate coincidence.
‘It isn’t. I only came here because you did.’
‘Are you saying . . . you followed me?’
‘Yes.’ Selwyn grinned blithely and Max saw Fontana’s face cloud with anger. ‘Don’t reproach yourself. I did a good many recceing missions behind enemy lines in the war. I’m no slouch when it comes to seeing without being seen.’
‘Why would you want to follow him?’ Fontana asked, assembling a pseudo-genial smile of his own.
‘Let’s not be coy, gentlemen. You two are, it pains me to have to say, up to no good.’
‘Pardon me?’ Fontana looked suitably taken aback.
‘What manner of no good I neither know nor care. It’s entirely your affair.’
‘This is ridiculous, Selwyn,’ said Max. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’
‘Your name isn’t Max Hutton, is it . . . Max?’ There was absolute certainty in Selwyn’s alarmingly round-eyed gaze. He knew.
‘What?’
‘It’s Maxted. James Maxted. We were at Eton together.’
Damn, thought Max. Damn it all to hell.
‘I was two years below you, so naturally you don’t remember me. Equally naturally, I do remember you. Ironically, most people would think me older than you now. It must be on account of the different wars we had. Mine took rather more out of me than yours evidently did out of you. But then you always did have an enviable quality of effortlessness. I remember watching you score a fifty for the second eleven once. Against Marlborough, if I’m not much mistaken. Lovely timing.’
Denial was futile. Max knew that even if Fontana did not. But what was the alternative? ‘You’re mistaken, Selwyn. I can—’
‘Please don’t. We both know it’s true.’ He was speaking quietly now, almost indulgently. ‘I felt sure we’d met before when you introduced yourself on the ferry. It only came to me later, though. James Maxted. Known as Max. Not Max Hutton. From which it followed you had not lost a brother on the Vanguard. That was all make-believe. But to what end? Well, as I say, I’m happy to let you keep that to yourselves.’
‘What makes you think I have the remotest clue what this is all about?’ cut in Fontana.
‘You mean what persuades me you are co-conspirators rather than chance acquaintances? Your carefully choreographed meeting at the harbour this morning, Lieutenant Fontana, as observed by me from the Ayre Hotel with my trusty binoculars. That is what persuades me. Max here travelling under an alias, and you patently straying from whatever duties you may have with the minesweeping fleet.’
Selwyn made a sudden grab for the newspaper, but Fontana slammed his hand down across it to stop him. They stared at each other for a moment, fury – at Selwyn, at Max, maybe even at himself – simmering in Fontana’s eyes.
‘Well, the point is made.’ Selwyn sat back in his chair and swallowed most of his whisky. ‘Here’s the thing, gentlemen. Our parents left Susan and me poorly provided for. My researches have committed me to an extensive – and expensive – programme of travel. I don’t expect my findings, when published, to be particularly lucrative. I may need to look to posterity for my greatest reward. But none of us can live on air, can we? And I should like Susan to have a more comfortable existence than she can currently afford. I foresee an offer of marriage, from a lamentable source, which she may feel obliged to accept. I should like to spare her that. I should like to give us both a little freedom in which to consider our futures. Shall we say . . . a thousand pounds?’
‘You’re out of your god-damn mind,’ said Fontana levelly.
‘You’re not the first to have said that, Lieutenant Fontana. But my sanity really isn’t the point. The point is that I shall notify the Kirkwall police and your commanding officer of my suspicions that you are engaged in some form of criminal enterprise unless you agree to buy my silence. I’m sorry the price is a little steep, but, as I’ve explained, I have my sister to consider as well as myself. On the other hand, I’m not unreasonable. You can pay me in instalments. Why don’t we say a hundred pounds as a down-payment? I’ll give you until the banks open on Monday to mull it over. But do mull thoroughly. I can’t prove a great deal beyond Max’s act of imposture. But I suspect all the official attention I can ensure you receive will scupper your plans, or at any rate greatly complicate them. Not that I’m inflexible. Far from it. A counteroffer on your part – a share of the proceeds of whatever you’re planning, for instance – will receive my serious attention. Do you see, gentlemen? You have to deal with me, irksome as it may be. Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your drinks – and all the local gossip.’ Selwyn pointed airily at the Orcadian, still held firmly in place by Fontana. ‘Illuminating, I’m sure.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I’ll bid you good evening.’ He turned towards the door, then turned back again. ‘By the way, Max, there’s no need to let this stand in the way of your accompanying us tomorrow. Susan will be disappointed if you don’t. And so will I.’ He essayed a form of salute to them both. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’
‘YOU DAMN FOOL,’ growled Fontana in the dark doorway along Mounthoolie Lane, where they had retreated from the Albert following Selwyn Henty’s departure. Max sensed Fontana wanted to shout at him, even strike him, but the need for secrecy held them both in its grip. The recriminations, bitter as they were, could only be whispered. ‘Because you couldn’t keep yourself to yourself on the ferry, we’ve got a blackmailer on our backs.’
‘How was I to know I’d meet someone who knew me at school?’ Max protested.
‘You shouldn’t have taken the chance. It looks to me as if that expensive education you had didn’t include a short course in common sense.’<
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‘Let’s not panic. I’m not travelling light when it comes to cash. We can agree to Henty’s terms and pay him a hundred quid on Monday. That’ll keep him quiet until I’ve been out to the ship. After I’ve got what I’m going there for, he can say what he likes. He can’t prove anything. He said so himself.’
‘You mean you get clean away and leave me to face the music.’
‘What music? There’ll be nothing for the police to investigate.’
‘We’d better hope that’s right. You louse things up Monday night and it could be a different story. If the British guard squadron reports any kind of incident, Henty’s allegations will get a lot of attention. And I’ll be in it up to my neck.’
‘I’m not going to louse things up.’
‘Really? Well, excuse me for pointing out that your record to date doesn’t inspire confidence.’
‘It’ll be all right. For God’s sake, what else can we do but play for time? The mission’s vital. It takes absolute priority. Haven’t you been told that?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been told. The mystery to me is why, if it’s so vital, a bungler like you was sent to carry it out.’
‘The boss trusts me. And he’ll expect you to trust me too.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Fontana tossed his head and took a few fretful strides along the lane, then stalked back to where Max was waiting. ‘All right. We’ll keep Henty sweet. Tell him we’ll pay up. But negotiate a lower figure. Or at least try to. He might get suspicious if we give in too easily.’
‘OK. I’ll do that.’
A silence followed, during which Fontana chewed over his anger, evidently long enough to swallow it. Then he said, ‘If all goes well, we won’t meet again. I’ll check with the Ayre that you’ve booked out on Monday and assume you’re proceeding as per my arrangements with Wylie.’
‘I’ll be proceeding. You can rely on it.’
‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ Fontana pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and headed off without a backward glance. He had no more to say. His opinion of Max was clear. And Max could hardly blame him for holding it.
The Corners of the Globe Page 2
