by Colin Forbes
'She's here now, I'm sure,' Paula continued. 'A woman just like her is staying at our hotel, the Nansidwell. The trouble is she was a flaming redhead
'Good description,' Prendergast agreed. 'And attractive, I thought, when I watched her wandering in the grounds.'
'But now this woman at Nansidwell, who ignores me, is a brunette.'
'So she's wearing a dark wig.' Prendergast said laconically. 'You're not often wrong, Paula. What's she up to at your hotel?'
'For one thing she's trying to hook Bob Newman, but he isn't playing. At least so far.' she added. 'But Bob does take his time before he moves.'
Talking about moving,' Prendergast stood up, 'since you were spotted by that Penkastle idiot, the news has probably been passed to Moloch by now that you're here. I suggest you give me the keys to your car. I'll drive it back to Nansidwell after dark.'
'And how do you suggest we get all the way back?' Paula demanded. 'Hoof it? It's miles - most of the way uphill.'
'I've got a better plan. You can be away from here in no time - and not a soul will know you've even left.'
'How?' asked Tweed bluntly.
'We'll travel in my large dinghy - it has a powerful outboard motor. We go down the creek, heading for Durgan where a friend of mine has a car. He'll loan it to me and I'll drive you to Nansidwell - no distance at all. I leave the dinghy at Durgan, drive back there, then take the dinghy to get back here. Simple.'
'Where exactly is Durgan?' Tweed enquired.
'Further down the Helford River c'
While Prendergast locked up the place Paula noticed the uneasy look on Tweed's face. He was a very bad sailor and hated any kind of floating craft. She dived into her capacious shoulder bag containing the two smoke bombs Marler had handed to her when they returned to the hotel from Mullion Towers.
She brought out the strip of Dramamine she always carried, handed one of the anti-seasickness pills to Tweed. He hastily swallowed it, washing it down with the rest of his orange juice as Prendergast returned.
'Tally ho!' he called out cheerfully. 'Here we go -sailing the Spanish Main...'
Outside, wearing gumboots, he climbed down a small flight of steps, hauled in a large dinghy. Waiting until Paula and Tweed were seated, he started the engine. The sun had dropped behind the forested hills on the far side of the creek and it was cool and fresh on the water.
'Lovely day for a trip.' Prendergast called out, full of zest.
'Isn't it.' replied Tweed in a dull voice.
They cruised down the creek and entered the much wider Helford River, and soon Paula saw the open sea at its mouth. Woods came down to the water's edge and Prendergast was moving into the centre of the river when Paula saw a large powerboat speeding up the river towards them. At the wheel reared up a large man with black hair. She tensed as he raised a pair of glasses with one hand, focused towards them. She immediately recognized Joel Brand. Lowering the field glasses, he gripped the wheel with both hands and the powerboat's prow lifted out of the water as he roared towards them.
'Brand is in that powerboat!' she shouted to Prendergast. 'He's going to run us down!'
'He's got more speed than we have.' Prendergast warned. Paula took out a smoke bomb from her shoulder bag, sat tensely as the powerboat, looking like a mechanical shark, tore down on them. Prendergast was desperately trying to reach the shore but she knew he would never make it. Tweed leaned close to Paula.
'Have you another of those things? If so, I'd like one.' She gazed at him dubiously. She felt sure he couldn't hit a barn door from six feet away. Reluctantly, she took out the second smoke bomb, handed it to him. He sat calmly, watching the approaching craft which would cut the dinghy to shreds.
'I'll manoeuvre out of his way when he's very close -if I can,' Prendergast shouted back.
The roar of the powerboat's engine became deafening. It seemed to loom above them as at the last minute Prendergast steered his dinghy with great skill in a different direction. The powerboat was within yards of them when Tweed hoisted his arm, hurled his smoke bomb. It landed inside the powerboat.
Paula, who had been good at rounders while at school, threw her smoke bomb a second later. It landed in the water. Tweed's bomb had detonated. A cloud of dense acrid smoke enveloped the craft, which suddenly went crazy. At the wheel Brand was blinded, coughing his guts out, his right hand still on the wheel, his left rubbing his eyes. The powerboat zigzagged madly across the river, following no logical course, heading for a steep bank where rocks protruded. Some instinct made Brand slow the engine, then cut it out. The powerboat stopped just before it smashed into the rocks, drifted, the smoke still rising from it.
'Durgan, here we come!' Prendergast shouted, making no attempt to conceal the relief in his voice.
'Where did you learn to throw like that?' Paula asked Tweed.
'Long ago I played cricket.' he told her. 'Actually I was a bit of a bowler.'
7
Tweed entered the lounge at Nansidwell while Paula stayed outside to chat to Prendergast whom she'd taken a liking to. In the right-hand lounge he saw Vanity Richmond, who sat down next to Newman, perched on a banquette in front of the windows overlooking the garden.
She's decided to forget about her black wig to see if her real appearance will get Newman going, he thought.
Which was exactly what had happened. She crossed her shapely legs, wore a very short skirt so he could admire them. Tweed had disappeared to his room as she opened the conversation.
'I hope you don't mind my joining you,' she began, 'but I gather we're both alone. You're Robert Newman. Am I right?'
'You are.'
'The famous international foreign correspondent. But I haven't seen any of your pungent articles in the top papers or magazines for a long time. You always had your photo at the top, which is how I recognize you.'
'I haven't written any recently...'
He looked up as the pleasant waiter came up to them and smiled.
'Would you like an aperitif?'
'Might go down rather well.' He turned to his new companion with a guarded smile. 'What would you like to drink?'
'A large dry Martini, please.'
'I'll have Scotch and water,' said Newman.
'I'm Vanity Richmond.' the very attractive redhead said.
'And I thought you were a brunette.'
'No wonder.' She laughed. 'I was in a dark mood so I wore a black wig. Now I'm beginning to enjoy myself in this lovely hotel I decided to be myself.'
'And who is myself?' Newman probed.
'Oh, I'm a PA to an industrialist. I travel a lot with him, see the world. He needs a lot of personal attention but I don't mind. The pay is good, the travel free.'
'Which industrialist?' Newman persisted.
'Oh, you'd never have heard of him. He maintains a modest profile ...'
'Where do you travel to?' Newman went on, gazing at her greenish eyes.
'My,' she chided him with a smile on her full red lips, 'is this an interrogation? Oh, of course, you're a top journalist. It must be second nature for you to question people.'
'I'm interested in you.'
'That's a nice compliment.'
She inched closer to him along the banquette until their thighs were touching. Waiting until the drinks had been served, she lifted her glass, clinked it against Newman's.
'Here's to an interesting friendship.'
'I'll drink to that,' replied Newman, thinking she was coming on pretty strong.
'Why haven't you written for quite a while?' she asked, turning his own guns on him. 'I remember you wrote a great international bestseller, Kruger: The Computer Which Failed. I suppose that set you up for life financially?'
'Which comes under the heading of a very personal question.' he rapped back.
'Sorry, I'm notorious for not being very diplomatic.'
'I have noticed that failing.'
Newman's manner had suddenly become more distant. He had never liked women who approached him openl
y. His response threw her off balance. Looking at her, he could see how men would find her attractive -she exuded allure. Not a word he preferred but it seemed to fit. She choked down the rest of her drink, looked at him, smiled warmly.
'Could I have another?'
'Of course.'
He gestured to the waiter, ordered more drinks, including a Scotch for himself, this time a double without water. Newman was very good at pretending to be slightly drunk while his brain was still in high gear. He had fooled a lot of people with the tactic. He asked the question quickly before she recovered her poise.
'You didn't answer my question - where do you travel to with this anonymous industrialist?'
'All over the place.' She paused and Newman read her mind. She was trying to decide whether to be more frank. A minute later she went on. "The main destination,' she said with an air of defiance, 'is California. Near San Francisco...'
'Go there often? Spend a lot of time there?'
'So, so. Yes!' Her eyes flashed. He'd got under her skin and there was a trace of arrogance. 'I do spend quite a bit of time in California. That's because my boss does. I enjoy travel...'
'So your boss is an American?'
'I didn't say that. Candidly, I'm not sure where the hell he came from, nor do I care. As I told you, the pay is good. Is that enough background information for you, Bob? Oh, goody, here are the drinks.'
She swallowed half her Martini, paused then drank more. Newman had noticed at dinner that she had a large capacity for liquor. He drank his Scotch quickly, then ordered a repeat of the drinks without consulting her. Vanity recrossed her legs, leaned closer.
'I like generous men.'
'I imagine you've met a lot of them.'
He was lisping a trifle as he spoke, giving the impression the liquor was starting to take effect on him.
'What the devil does that mean?' she demanded coldly.
'Shimply that an attractive woman like you is bound to have well-off men after you. Makes sense, I'd have thought.'
'Oh, I see what you mean. That's quite a compliment, Bob.'
'Not really, just stating a fact.'
The third round of drinks had been served. They were consuming them when Tweed appeared, walking into the lounge, sat down with his back to them and started reading a magazine explaining the delights of Cornwall. Newman knew that although he wasn't close he could hear every word. Vanity took no notice of him.
'What do you do with your life, Bob?' she continued. 'Are you married?'
'I was once.' Newman's expression became grim. 'My wife was murdered horribly in the Baltic area. I hunted down the killer.'
'I'm so sorry I raised the subject.' Her hand rested on his leg. 'What happened to the killer? Or maybe you'd sooner not talk about it.'
'He fell over a cliff.'
Newman drank more whisky, occasionally slurring his words. His mind was still quite clear. Vanity changed the subject.
'So what do you do, Bob? I'm sure a man like you couldn't just sit around all day.'
'Now and then I contribute articles to certain international papers and magazines - under a different name.' he lied easily. 'So they involve making trips abroad to find out what is really going on.'
'You're a wanderer.'
'You could call me that.' He laughed. 'I wander into the strangest of places. Like here. You must have noticed that huge luxurious yacht standing off Falmouth harbour. It even has a helipad with a chopper sitting on it. Someone told me the owner was a man called Vincent Bernard Moloch.'
He was watching Vanity closely now. Her face froze for a moment, then she dived inside her Hermes handbag, brought out a tiny lace-edged handkerchief. Hermes, Newman was thinking. I'll bet that little item cost not a penny less than five thousand pounds. Her boss pays her very well for her services, whatever they might be.
'How did you find that out?' she asked.
Wrong question, Newman was thinking, but nothing showed of his reaction.
'A chap in a pub told me. Half Falmouth seems to know.' he lied again. "They say he's the richest man in the world. With a job like that floating out there he must be.'
"Then, with all your experience of the world, you must know something about this man,' she suggested.
'Not a lot.' He finished his drink. 'In any case he's not news, so I'm not interested. I think they're ready for dinner. Care to join me at my table?'
I'd love that.'
Tweed watched them vanish towards the dining room and smiled to himself. Newman wasn't wasting much time. And he'd handled a tricky situation with his usual skill.
Paula wandered down the staircase, intending to go into dinner. She was wearing an ivory gabardine trouser suit with a cream silk blouse, her latest addition to her wardrobe. The proprietor greeted her cheerfully, commented on how smart she looked. Paula smiled, thanked him, noticed over his shoulder that Vanity Richmond was standing in the entrance, obviously about to go outside for a breath of fresh air.
Vanity was feeling inside her handbag, brought out a compact mobile phone, disappeared round a corner into the courtyard. Paula strolled after her, pausing before she went into the courtyard. Taking a few steps further she saw Vanity huddled against the wall of the building, the mobile phone close to her ear. With her acute sense of hearing Paula could hear every word Vanity said.
'You know who this is, VB. Calling from Nansidwell. I had a long conversation with a one-time foreign correspondent called Robert Newman...
'What was that you said? Yes, Newman is staying here. No, I have no reason to suspect him so far. But he told me half Falmouth knows you're here ...'
'How does he know? He heard someone talking in a pub...
'Did I hear you correctly? You're flying to Newquay on the chopper? Where to? Didn't catch that...
'You're flying on to Heathrow and then to San Francisco in the jet? Surely I should be coming with you...'
'No? Stay here for the moment and check up on what is going on? Make sure a lot of people see me during the -whole evening? Why on earth...'
'None of my business. Sorry...'
'Yes, when you send for me I'll board a flight at Heathrow, phoning you from the airport...'
'OK. Safe flight...'
Paula was walking into the dining room when she saw Vanity reappear at the entrance. In the dining room she was surprised to see Bob Newman sitting at his usual table, but now it was laid for two people. Tweed was occupying a table not far away, already ordering his meal.
Paula was escorted to her own table and sat down in a tense state. The sooner she warned Tweed that Moloch was on his way back to the States the better. The trouble was she couldn't work out a way of telling him in that crowded room without risking being overheard. Writing a message and handing it to one of the serving girls to take to him was equally dangerous.
At that moment Vanity entered the room, walked straight to Newman's table. He stood up, pulled out a chair for her and they were immediately engaged in animated conversation. And now Paula knew the woman was Vanity Richmond. She had the same head of flaming red hair as she'd had when she approached Paula in faraway Monterey. She had been wearing a dark wig -but why had she discarded it?
Paula ordered automatically, her mind racing. Vanity's presence ruled out any chance of her approaching Tweed during dinner. And what about the business of Moloch obviously warning Vanity to be seen during the whole evening? It had a sinister ring which she found disturbing.
Adrian Penkastle rented a tiny one-storey whitewashed cottage at the edge of the creek. Rather the worse for wear after his second bout of drinking at the Yacht Club, he was staggering round his small room, searching in vain for a bottle, when he heard the knock on his door.
'Who the hell can that be at this hour?' he mumbled to himself.
When he eventually managed to unlock the front door he found Joel Brand standing outside. His visitor wore seaman's clothes and a nautical cap pulled well down over his shaggy hair. Joel grinned, waved a bottle of whis
ky in his gloved hand. He took his gumboots off and entered the house in his socks.
'Got another job for you, Adrian. Big money for this one.'
Joel waved a fistful of twenty-pound notes with his other hand. Penkastle gazed at the money, stood back to let Brand enter. Closing the door, Brand looked round at the primitive furniture which included a large wooden table.
'Let's sit down.' he said cheerfully. 'Bring up a couple of chairs and I'll tell you all about it.'
Penkastle hurried into his minute kitchen-scullery and came back with two greasy glasses. He sat down opposite the big man, who poured a large slug of whisky into his host's glass, then the same amount into his own. Raising his glass, he toasted Penkastle.
'Here's to a long and prosperous life.'
'I'll drink, to that,' Adrian mumbled.
He watched Brand stuff the sheaf of banknotes into one of his pockets. He could only vaguely estimate the amount but it seemed to him Brand was carrying something like five hundred pounds.
'Have a refresher.' Brand urged and poured more whisky into Penkastle's glass. 'You're about to get into the big-time stuff, Adrian. Pays a fortune. In cash, of course.' He winked. 'Don't want the Inland Revenue taking a large cut do we?'
'Prefer cash.'
He stumbled over the first word, drank some more, put down his glass. Brand promptly refilled it. Propping his elbows on the table - Adrian was worried about falling off the chair, which would not make a good impression.
Tell me about the job. What have I to do this time?'
'You know a guy called Maurice Prendergast? Lives on the other side of the creek.'
'Yes.' Adrian replied eagerly. 'I can tell you the name of his house. Place called The Ark.'
'You have to record his every movement. You have a car, haven't you?'
'An old banger, but it goes.'
'Has Prendergast seen it?'
'I'm sure he hasn't.'
"Then if he takes off you can follow him, report his movements.' Brand drank a little more and Adrian took another large gulp. His head was swimming. 'You report who he meets - where and when. Got it?' Brand asked.
