by John Kerr
‘OSS would advance such a sum?’ asked Sir Philip sceptically.
‘I’ll use my own funds. It might not be a bad investment, even at such an inflated price.’
‘I thought you were supposed to lie low, darlin’,’ said Marnie.
‘I don’t intend to let on that I’m in Nassau. As far as Dobbs is concerned, I’m in Texas.’
‘And if the syndicate accepts your offer?’ asked Sir Philip.
‘I’ll arrange a nice spread in the local paper. “Wealthy investor buys Hog Island property and announces plans for world-class hotel.”’
‘But what about Oakes?’ protested Marnie, crossing her legs and dangling a sandal from a slender foot. ‘I thought these local merchants were just straw men?’
‘I’m betting greed will trump loyalty,’ said Hamilton. ‘I suspect these Bay Street gentlemen resent the way the great Sir Harry Oakes throws his weight around.’
‘OK,’ said Marnie with a fascinated expression, ‘what happens next?’
‘Once the news is out, the ball’s in play,’ replied Hamilton with a sparkle in his intelligent, grey eyes. ‘Oakes will weigh in, trying to break the contract, and Ericsson will … well, to be honest, I don’t know what Ericsson will do. I’m hoping it will throw him off stride.’ Hamilton gave Sir Philip an expectant look.
‘That’s it?’ said Sir Philip. ‘The sum and substance of your plan?’
‘Not entirely. I mean, I didn’t have to come back to Nassau just to make an offer for that property.’
‘True,’ said Sir Philip.
‘I’ve got to find a back channel to Ericsson.’
‘How do you plan to do that?’ asked Marnie.
‘Through Evelyn. She’s not only close to the duke and duchess,’ said Hamilton earnestly, ‘but also to Ericsson. And, frankly, I know I can trust her.’
Sir Philip frowned, tapping the bowl of the pipe in his palm. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I fear word that you’re in Nassau could leak out. Ericsson’s men are bound to be watching. Perhaps there’s another explanation for your desire to see Mrs Shawcross?’
‘Of course there is,’ said Marnie, her dark eyes flashing. ‘Lord, Tom, I warned you—’
‘And I told you not to worry. Sure I want to see her again,’ he said, looking at Sir Philip. ‘And I believe she could be extremely helpful.’
‘Well,’ said Sir Philip in a resigned tone, ‘use your discretion.’
‘I’d like to send her a note,’ said Hamilton. ‘Maybe Carter could deliver it.’
Marnie stood up abruptly and walked to the window. ‘Carter’s doing fine,’ she said, turning to face Hamilton. ‘But let me deliver your note. I’d like to explain a thing or two to Evelyn.’
‘An excellent idea,’ said Sir Philip. ‘Less likely to arouse suspicion.’
Hamilton nodded. ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘We’ve got a plan.’
The satin finish of the dining-room table at Shangri-La gleamed in the soft light of an antique silver candelabrum. Evelyn Shawcross sat across from Nils Ericsson, picking at her food and struggling to make small talk. When she’d received the hand-written dinner invitation, she naturally assumed the party would include the usual social circle surrounding the wealthy industrialist, perhaps the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and the duchess’s Aunt Bessie. But she’d been alone with her host for over an hour.
‘You’re sure you won’t have dessert?’ asked Ericsson. ‘The cook prepared an excellent strüdel.’
‘Thank you, but no,’ said Evelyn, erect in the high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap.
‘Coffee, perhaps?’ said Ericsson. ‘Or a liqueur?’
‘A demitasse of coffee,’ replied Evelyn.
Without taking his eyes from her, Ericsson depressed a buzzer under the carpet, summoning a young servant, who appeared almost instantly, wearing gloves and a starched white jacket. ‘Bring the decanter of vintage cognac,’ commanded Ericsson in Swedish, ‘and a demitasse of coffee for Mrs Shawcross. Cream or sugar?’ he asked Evelyn, reverting to English.
‘No, thank you,’ she said, her heart sinking with the realization that the intimate evening was not drawing to a close.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ asked Ericsson, reaching for a silver case from his dinner jacket as the door closed behind the servant.
‘Of course not.’
Extracting a cigarette, he tapped it on the case and then lit it. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Evelyn,’ he said, ‘what’s become of your American friend?’
So that’s it, she thought, her heart beginning to pound. ‘My American friend?’
‘Yes, the gentleman who escorted you to the duke’s Christmas ball.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Evelyn, quickly feigning a smile. ‘Tom Hamilton.’
‘Yes. Mr Hamilton,’ said Ericsson with exaggerated emphasis. The servant reappeared and served Evelyn a petite cup and saucer before placing a snifter and the decanter of cognac at Ericsson’s elbow. ‘What’s become of Mr Hamilton?’ asked Ericsson casually as he poured a glass.
‘Why, he left before Christmas. I assumed you were kept informed of such things.’
‘I am,’ agreed Ericsson after taking a sip and running his tongue over his lips. ‘But my question to you, Evelyn, is where has he gone? I presume he confided in you.’ Taking a pull on his cigarette, he exhaled a cloud of smoke, which drifted across the flickering candles.
‘Not really,’ she said as nonchalantly as she was able. ‘Merely that he was going home, to attend to business.’
‘Surely you don’t believe such a transparent falsehood?’ said Ericsson with surprising vehemence. ‘The man’s obviously an espionage agent.’ Leaning back in his chair, he swirled the glass and took a sip.
Evelyn’s pale face betrayed no reaction to the assertion, though inwardly she despaired that it was true. ‘I gather you invited me here,’ she said coldly, ‘for this intimate dinner party, thinking you could frighten me—’
‘I’m merely seeking information,’ said Ericsson with a menacing glare.
‘But you were mistaken. The truth is, I have no idea whether he’s a spy or where he was going when he left. I supplied you with what little information I had, and now it’s your affair.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Ericsson with a shrug. ‘But I should warn you: in case you should hear even a word from … your lover; or even better, if you should see him … you must tell me at once. Your husband is in a very – how should I put it? A very delicate position.’ Evelyn trembled involuntarily, staring into Ericsson’s pale-blue eyes.
‘So long as you co-operate,’ he continued in a conversational tone, ‘your husband should be fine. But if you should fail to honour your commitments … Well, I’m sure you understand.’
Breathing slowly, Evelyn raised the delicate cup to her lips and took a sip. Putting the coffee aside, she said, ‘It’s late and I should go.’
‘The launch is at your disposal,’ said Ericsson pleasantly.
Escorted by one of Ericsson’s men to the sleek powerboat, Evelyn stood at the railing, staring forlornly at the lights of the British Colonial Hotel and Government House as the crew manoeuvred the boat alongside the public dock at Prince Georges Wharf. As the engine idled, troubling the black water at the stern, a crewman wordlessly took her by the elbow and steadied her for the step onto the dock. Clutching her stole over her bare shoulders, Evelyn hurried up the steps, where a jitney was waiting.
‘Evenin,’ ma’am,’ said the driver as she opened the door and slid inside. ‘Where to?’
‘Greycliff,’ she answered simply.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said and shifted into gear. Once the taxi was halfway up the block, a black sedan emerged from the shadows, following in the darkness without headlights. When the taxi stopped at Greycliff, the driver of the sedan pulled over in the shadows and watched as Evelyn paid the fare and hurried into the sanctuary of her home.
‘Yes, I have the note,’ said Marnie irritably as she stood
beside the Bentley, tying her silk scarf under her chin. ‘In my handbag.’ She slid behind the wheel and leaned over to adjust her sunglasses in the rear-view mirror.
‘OK,’ said Tom, closing the door with a reassuring chunk and leaning against the side of the cream-coloured convertible. ‘Remember what I said about seeing her alone, away from the servants. There’s a porch upstairs—’
‘Relax,’ said Marnie, as she peered at him over her sunglasses. ‘We’ll have a nice little visit – assuming she’s home – and I’ll be back in a jiffy.’ With a slight grimace, she turned the key, and placing her left arm on the seatback, backed out the gravel drive. With a smile and a wave, she shifted gear and hit the accelerator. Hamilton stood with his hands on his hips, watching as the powerful car disappeared down the drive. Fifteen minutes later, Marnie pulled over in front of the elegant Shawcross mansion, switched off the engine and untied her scarf, shaking out her thick blonde hair. Taking her handbag from the seat, she hurried up the flagstones to the door. After ringing the bell, she glanced up at the shuttered windows, struck by an unexpected pang of jealousy at the thought of Tom alone with Evelyn. After a few moments, a Bahamian servant answered the door, examining Marnie with a mildly curious expression.
‘Hello,’ she said with a smile. ‘Is Mrs Shawcross in?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I’m Lady Sassoon. I have something for her.’
‘Oh, yes, ma’am,’ he said politely, holding open the door, painted the same shade of green as the shutters. ‘I’ll let the missus know you’re here.’
As she walked inside, the servant started up the wide staircase. Placing her sunglasses in her handbag, Marnie briefly examined herself in a mirror before her gaze fell on a framed photograph of a beautiful young girl, wearing what Marnie would have called her best ‘Sunday-school dress’ and holding the hands of her rather severe looking parents.
‘Hello, Marnie,’ said Evelyn, standing on the stairs with her hand on the banister. Dressed in a blue satin robe and bedroom slippers, she looked uncharacteristically fragile.
‘I hope I didn’t disturb you,’ said Marnie.
‘No,’ said Evelyn as she continued down the stairs. ‘I’ve been up since dawn. I just haven’t had the inspiration to dress. What a pleasant surprise.’
‘You have a beautiful home,’ Marnie said graciously. ‘I apologize for dropping in.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Evelyn. ‘It’s lonely here, and I’m always happy to have company. Let’s go into the sunroom and have tea … or a drink, if you’d prefer.’ Without waiting for a response, she started down a passageway that led to an airy room overlooking the garden. ‘How is Sir Philip?’ she asked, as she entered the sun-filled room, placing her hands on an overstuffed armchair covered in bright chintz.
‘Philip’s fine. A bit bored, I’m afraid, and wishing he was closer to the action.’
‘Would you care for tea? I’ll call Samuel.’ She reached for a small brass bell.
‘No, thanks,’ said Marnie as she sat on the sofa. ‘I can only stay a minute.’
‘All right,’ said Evelyn as she put down the bell. She sat in the comfortable chair and gave Marnie an expectant look.
‘I have something for you,’ said Marnie, opening her handbag and removing a small envelope. Evelyn glanced briefly at the envelope and then gave Marnie another inquisitive look. ‘Before we go any further,’ said Marnie, tapping the envelope on her palm, ‘we need to get a few things straight.’
‘I see,’ said Evelyn stiffly.
‘I’m here because Tom asked me to come.’
‘Tom?’ said Evelyn softly. ‘He’s back …’
‘Listen, Evelyn,’ said Marnie, ‘we’re both married women, though I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be so far away from my husband, and for such a long time. But I don’t want Tom getting hurt. And I don’t mean just his feelings.’
Evelyn nodded, staring straight ahead, as though looking right through Marnie. ‘Of course,’ she murmured.
‘You may think this sounds screwy,’ Marnie continued, ‘but he could be in real danger. Whatever happens between the two of you, just promise me you’ll be careful and do as he says.’
Evelyn swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ she said with some difficulty. ‘But of course I’ll be careful.’
‘Just don’t let on that you know he’s back,’ said Marnie. ‘To anyone. OK?’
Evelyn nodded.
‘There,’ said Marnie with a sigh. ‘I’ve said my piece.’ Rising from the sofa, she reached out to hand Evelyn the envelope. ‘It’s a note from Tom,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what it says – I’m just the delivery girl.’
Biting her lip as she examined the envelope, Evelyn looked up and said, ‘Thank you,’ in a barely audible voice.
‘Bye,’ said Marnie, with a look that suggested pity more than encouragement. ‘I can see myself out.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Evelyn. She watched as Marnie walked quickly from the room, listening for the sound of the front door. When she was alone, Evelyn rose unsteadily and walked to the window. As she looked out over the garden, an image of Tom filled her mind, gracefully swimming the length of the long, blue-tiled pool. With a sigh of resignation, she tore open the envelope and read:
Dear Evelyn,
I’m writing this from Eves, Sir Philip’s home on Cable Beach. I’m anxious to see you, but it’s very important that no one knows I’m here. I’ll explain when I see you. Please call me and we can decide on a discreet place to meet. I can’t wait to be with you.
Tom
CHAPTER TWELVE
STIFLING A YAWN, Harold Dobbs hunched over his cluttered desk, staring with intense concentration at the morning newspaper. ‘Damn,’ he muttered, as he ran an ink-smudged finger down a column of small print, smiling inwardly when he found the scores of the English football matches faithfully reported in the Nassau Daily Tribune.
‘Mr Dobbs …’
He glanced up at his secretary. ‘Yes?’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘A call, Mr Dobbs. From an overseas operator,’ she added in a breathless tone.
‘Blimey, an overseas call,’ grumbled Dobbs, as he swivelled around in his creaking chair and lifted the receiver. ‘Hello,’ he said, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. ‘This is Dobbs.’
‘Hold the line for Mr Thomas Hamilton,’ said Marnie, delighted at the ease with which she’d passed herself off to Dobbs’s dim-witted secretary as a mainland operator. After a brief delay, Hamilton came on the line:
‘Dobbs? Is that you, Harold?’
‘Why, hello, Mr Hamilton. Where are you calling from?’
‘Where? Oh, here in my office. In Texas.’
‘Why, the connection’s so clear I could swear you were in Nassau. What can I do for you?’
‘Listen, Harold, I’ve been mulling over that land deal, and while I don’t like getting hi-jacked, I don’t like losing, either.’
‘Why, certainly not.’
‘I’ve got another deal on the front burner, and I’ve got to choose. Either I do the Nassau deal, or I forget it.’
‘Right-o,’ said Dobbs, desperately searching for his pencil and pad amid the clutter.
‘Here’s what I want you to do,’ instructed Hamilton. He paused for a moment and gave Marnie a wink. ‘Draft a simple contract whereby this syndicate, the New Providence Land Company, sells the forty-two-acre parcel for a thousand dollars, subject to the unrecorded mortgage.’
‘Price a thousand dollars,’ said Dobbs as he scribbled notes, ‘forty-two-acre parcel, subject to the mortgage … I take it you’re the purchaser?’
‘Correct. Thomas R. Hamilton.’
‘R,’ repeated Dobbs.
‘You can sign as my attorney-in-fact. Closing within thirty days. Then I want you to drop by the branch bank on Bay Street and see the manager.’
‘The Royal Bank of Canada?’
&nb
sp; ‘Right. I’ll have a cashier’s cheque waiting at the manager’s office for the equivalent of a thousand dollars in pounds sterling.’
‘The full purchase price?’
‘Yes. When the contract’s ready, swing by the bank and pick up the cheque. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
‘Then I want you to pay another call on your friend Jennings, the haberdasher. Present him with the contract and the cashier’s cheque. And tell him he’s got twelve hours.’
‘Twelve hours?’
‘That’s right. Either they sign and take the money, or the deal’s off. Take it or leave it.’
Dobbs paused. ‘It’s customary to afford the seller the opportunity to make a counter—’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ said Hamilton. ‘These men offered to sell me the property for five hundred bucks, subject to the mortgage, and now I’m offering to pay a thousand. I don’t have time to dicker. I’ve got other fish to fry. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Dobbs quietly. ‘Entirely clear.’
‘When will you have something?’ asked Hamilton.
‘Well, if I start straight-away, perhaps by tomorrow—’
‘I’m paying you, Harold. Do it today, and plan to pick up the cheque and call on your man Jennings first thing in the morning.’
‘I’ll get right on to it.’
‘After you see Jennings, I want a report. Call me at the office. Taylor-4, 1-4-9-6.’
‘Got it,’ said Dobbs, jotting down the number.
‘All right, Harold, let’s see if we can bull the game,’ said Hamilton. ‘Make it clear there’s no room to negotiate, no stalling for time.’
‘Yes, well, Mr Hamilton, I’d best get started.’ Hanging up, Dobbs spun around and called out, ‘Miss Brooks! Come here, please, and bring your pad.’
Approximately ten miles away, Hamilton placed the receiver on the cradle in the panelled den at Eves with a satisfied smile. ‘Now that that’s done, I’m back to waiting. I wonder why she hasn’t called?’ he asked himself as much as Marnie.
