by John Kerr
‘You know Ericsson,’ he said calmly. ‘And you’re close to the duke and duchess.’ In the gathering dusk, the pool and the wall beyond it dissolved into the shadows.
‘What do they have to do with this?’ asked Evelyn in a voice that betrayed her growing panic. ‘God … I could use a drink.’
‘Is there some place we could talk without being seen?’
‘Samuel’s in his room listening to the radio. I’ll tell him he’s not needed, and then it should be safe to go inside.’ She disappeared through the garden gate. Five minutes later she returned and led him up the path to the back of the house. As they entered and started up the stairs, he thought back to his first night at Greycliff, with Evelyn at the piano, a memory that triggered a powerful wave of longing and desire. Now the only sound was the tick-tock of the grandfather clock.
She walked out to the porch overlooking the garden. ‘We’re alone,’ she said. ‘I listened to Samuel whistling his way down the block, off for an evening of dominoes with a friend.’ She switched on a lamp, walked to a trolley, and reached for a bottle. ‘Scotch?’ she asked.
Hamilton nodded.
‘Oh, and you Yanks prefer ice,’ she added. ‘Sorry, but I’m afraid …’
‘I’ll drink it neat.’ She poured each of them a shot of whisky in glasses decorated with the official seal of the Colony.
‘There you are, sir,’ she said in a far more confident tone. ‘Now, then,’ she continued, moving to the railing, ‘what were you about to say about the duke and duchess?’
‘You’ll think I’m crazy.’ He stood next to her and leaned against the railing. ‘Why don’t I lay the whole thing out, the way I see it?’ A gentle breeze stirred the treetops and somewhere down the street a dog was barking. After taking a sip, he said, ‘Nobody gets close to this project Ericsson’s building on Hog Island – the so-called Hurricane Hole. His guards and patrol boats see to that. And the Royal Navy won’t go near the place.’
‘Why?’
‘The duke won’t allow it. He’s a great admirer of Ericsson, and so the work goes on, under incredibly tight security.’
‘Why should the duke care? Why should it concern him what Nils is building…?’
‘Because,’ said Hamilton, ‘he’s building submarine pens – sheltered docks – for German U-boats.’ He paused to study Evelyn’s face, an expressionless mask in the shadows. ‘And excavating a canal to tie into the port in Nassau.’
‘Do you know this?’ she asked at last. ‘Or is it just conjecture?’
‘I’ve seen it myself. And when everything’s ready, the Germans will launch an attack, take the airfield first, in all likelihood, and then deal with the small British garrison.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question about the duke.’
Hamilton paused to take a swallow of Scotch. ‘I imagine they’ll place the duke under house arrest. Others, like Sir Philip, will be tossed in gaol. But the Duke is the real prize.’
‘You are dreaming,’ murmured Evelyn.
‘The Germans will have their submarine base, where they can rest and refit after wreaking havoc on the Florida shipping lanes, and a fully equipped airfield thrown into the bargain. And they’ll have the former king, whom they ought to be able to persuade to broadcast an appeal to his countrymen to come to their senses and sue for peace.’
Staring at him in the semi-darkness, Evelyn said, ‘You should have been a writer, Tom. It’s a wonderful story. But it’s absurdly far-fetched.’
‘There’s not much time,’ said Hamilton. ‘I’m trying to throw a wrench into the project. But what I really need is your help with the duke.’
‘What could I possibly do?’
‘Persuade him to send in the Royal Navy to have a look around at Hurricane Hole.’
‘He’ll think I’m mad.’
‘Go see Wallis, then. Explain that her husband’s at great risk. Evelyn,’ said Hamilton, standing erect and staring into her eyes, ‘if the duke allows himself to be used by the Nazis, he’ll be ruined. A national disgrace. Banished from his own country.’
Each phrase struck her like a blow, exposing the terrible reality of her complicity in the plot, and the brutal consequences she’d never considered for the poor, well-intentioned Duke of Windsor. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, leaning back her head and placing the back of her hand on her forehead. Her glass slipped with the gesture, falling to the floor and shattering. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Evelyn absently, ‘I’ll have someone clean it up.’
‘But Evelyn …’
Staring at him with wide-open eyes, she blurted, ‘You should never have come here! You’ll ruin us all. Can’t you just go away, before it’s too late? Of course you’re risking your own life. But what about me?’
‘I … I never meant to put you in danger. I guess I didn’t think.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ she exclaimed, fighting back tears. ‘Perhaps, if you’d just go back to the States, things might be all right. Perhaps I could warn the duke. Oh, God,’ she muttered, turning away and slumping onto the sofa.
Walking over to her slowly, avoiding the broken glass, he gazed down and said softly, ‘Evelyn. I’m sorry.’ She gave him an anguished look. ‘I knew it was wrong,’ he continued, ‘but I fell for you. I should never have dragged you into this. It was wrong to … fall in love, and it was wrong to ask you to help me.’
‘Don’t even say it,’ she whispered.
‘I’d better go. I’ll call a cab, if that’s OK.’ He reached down and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Let’s just pretend tonight never happened. As far as anyone else is concerned, you’ve not seen me again.’ Staring up at him, her lips trembled and the tears came, wetting her cheeks. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘Goodnight,’ he said and then turned and walked away.
Ten minutes later, a jitney pulled over at the back gate where Hamilton stood in the shadows. A solitary figure in the darkness at the corner watched as Hamilton climbed in and the taxi disappeared down the street.
The steady sea breeze rustled the palm fronds overshadowing the terrace where Hamilton sat alone, staring at the aquamarine sea. After declining Marnie’s invitation to join her for a swim, he’d been left to his ruminations, while Sir Philip adhered to his routine, working in his study until lunchtime. Hamilton leaned back with the warm sun on his face, imagining the Chris Craft pulling up to the pier with Carter at the helm. After a quick run over to Nassau to pick up Evelyn, they would cruise northward to Green Turtle Cay, leaving Greycliff and the war far behind….
Opening the sliding glass door, Marnie walked outside. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘you have a phone call. It’s your office.’
Peering over his shoulder, Hamilton yawned and said, ‘I’ll be right there.’ He walked to the panelled den and reached for the phone. ‘Hello? … Oh, hi, Barbara … Dobbs called? Let me get a pencil.’ He jotted down a number. ‘Anything else? … No, that can wait. Bye.’
Marnie leaned against the doorjamb and said, ‘I suppose you want me to place a call?’
‘Yep. The same routine.’ He stared briefly into her eyes, conscious that he’d been taking her for granted. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘I know.’ She squeezed his hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.’ She walked over and reached for the phone and slip of paper. After dialling, she said, ‘This is the long distance operator. I have a person-to-person call for Mr Harold Dobbs, from Mr Thomas Hamilton … She’s getting him,’ she added, handing Hamilton the receiver.
Hamilton tapped the pencil on the desk and then said, ‘Hello, Harold. It’s Tom Hamilton. Yes, in my office. What do you have?’
The swivel chair creaking under the weight of his large form, Dobbs cleared his throat and said, ‘Well, sir, I’ve just returned from a meeting with Mr Mason Jennings. I brought along the contract and the cheque I picked up at the bank, just as you instructed.’
&nb
sp; ‘And what did Jennings say?’
‘Once we were situated in his office, I explained that I was calling on behalf of a client to make a proposal as regards the property on Hog Island—’
‘But what did he say?’ said Hamilton testily.
‘Well, he was taken aback when I stated that my client was prepared to pay the sum of a thousand dollars. “But what about the mortgage?” he says. “Look here,” I said, directing his attention to the contract. “Paragraph two, I believe it is. The purchase shall be subject to the first lien mortgage in the amount of twenty thousand pounds”. Without further ado, I reached for the cashier’s cheque and handed it to him.’
‘Get to the point, man. What did Jennings say?’
‘Well, for a moment, he was speechless, staring at that cheque. Then, he says, “A thousand dollars – a tidy sum. I assure you,” he says, “we shall give your proposal very serious consideration’”.’
‘What about the deadline?’
‘“Take note”, I explained, “that the offer shall be null and void unless accepted by ten o’clock tonight. Twelve hours hence.” “Why, that’s impossible”, he says. “Well, I’m sorry”, I told him. “That’s all there is to it. Sign within the time specified, or the deal’s off”.’
‘OK,’ said Hamilton. ‘How did you leave things?’
‘Well, Jennings kept eyeing that cheque. Said something about getting his partners together, and, if I heard him correctly, “serve the old sod right”.’
‘Fine,’ said Hamilton. ‘You know how to reach me. Call as soon as you hear anything.’
‘Right-o, Hamilton. Good day.’
Hamilton hung up with a sigh. ‘Well,’ he said to Marnie, who was curled up on the sofa, ‘There’s nothing more I can do but wait.’
‘Why don’t you relax?’ she asked.
‘Relax? If there’s one thing I’m sure of, the Germans are planning something, as soon as those submarine pens are ready. And that could be any day.’
She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘But what about this plan of yours?’
‘That will just buy time, if I’m lucky. I’ve got to get proof of what Ericsson is up to.’
‘I gather your visit with Mrs Shawcross was unproductive,’ commented Sir Philip, who had silently rolled into the room in his wheelchair.
‘Yes,’ said Hamilton with a frown.
Sir Philip propelled himself smoothly with his strong arms, pivoting beside the sofa where Marnie was lounging. ‘May I get you something, darling?’ she asked, making a motion to get up.
‘Pray let Henry know,’ he replied, ‘that we’re ready for lunch.’ Once he was alone with Hamilton, Sir Philip asked, ‘How much did you disclose to Evelyn?’
‘I explained I’m working for the OSS as an undercover agent and my suspicions about Ericsson and the Nazi sub base.’
‘Her reaction?’
‘That the story was absurdly far-fetched, in her words.’
‘She declined to offer any assistance?’
‘Not exactly. When I told her the Germans might seize the island and place the duke under house arrest, she was visibly upset.’
‘Understandably.’
‘And pleaded with me to leave Nassau. She was obviously frightened of getting involved, and, if what I said was true, worried for her safety.’ He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t fair to drag her into this.’
‘Don’t make the mistake of placing your feelings for the person,’ counselled Sir Philip, ‘ahead of the cause. Though I must say, I’m surprised by her reaction.’ Hamilton gave him a questioning look. ‘That she pleaded with you to leave,’ said Sir Philip. ‘It’s almost as though …’ He paused and touched his fingertips to his chin.
Marnie reappeared, having changed into slacks and a white blouse that contrasted nicely with her deep tan. ‘Lunch,’ she said, ‘will be ready shortly.’
‘Tom was explaining the results of his visit with Mrs Shawcross,’ said Sir Philip.
‘A mistake,’ commented Hamilton. ‘I don’t plan to see her again.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Marnie.
‘She wants me to go back to the States,’ said Hamilton, meeting her gaze.
‘Hah,’ said Marnie. ‘I’ll bet she does. Your problem is you don’t understand women.’
After lunch, Hamilton lay down on the sofa for a nap while Sir Philip and Marnie retired to their adjoining bedrooms. Just as he had fallen lightly asleep, he was startled awake by the phone. He hurried to the desk and caught it on the third ring. ‘Hello?’ he said.
‘Hello, Tom,’ said Hamilton’s secretary in Texas. ‘Your man Dobbs called back and seemed quite excited. You need to call him right away.’
Glancing at his watch, Hamilton said, ‘Thanks, Barbara. I’ve got the number.’ He walked down the hall and tapped gently on Marnie’s door. After a few moments, she opened it a crack, clutching her satin robe to her neck in a rare gesture of modesty. For a moment she searched his eyes. ‘Tom,’ she said softly, ‘do you—?’
‘Sorry to bother you,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s just that I need you to place another call.’
‘Oh,’ she said, with a look of mild disappointment. ‘Give me a minute.’
Hamilton waited in the den, where after several minutes Marnie joined him. ‘OK,’ she said without enthusiasm as she walked to the desk. ‘I know the drill.’ She glanced at the scrap of paper and dialled the number. After a moment, she handed Hamilton the phone.
‘Harold?’ said Hamilton. ‘What’s up?’
‘Jennings called after lunch and asked me to meet him. And to get straight to the point, he signed the contract!’
‘I’ll be damned,’ said Hamilton.
‘“I’ve spoken to the others”,’ he says, “and though we probably ought to hold out, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush”, as the saying goes. So we sat ourselves down and I took him through the document. “Blimey”, he says, when we came to the bit about the mortgage, “your client Mr Hamilton certainly has some large …” Ha, ha, you get the idea.’
‘Yes,’ said Hamilton. ‘I do.’
‘Jennings went on to say something about high time somebody stood up to the old coot, and that Sir Harry was now your problem. I handed him the cheque, and Jennings grins from ear to ear. “A thousand dollars. Who would’ve thought it?” Pretty swell work for an afternoon, wouldn’t you admit?’
‘Yes, very swell. There’s one more thing.’
‘What might that be?’ asked Dobbs nervously.
‘I have a press release,’ answered Hamilton. ‘I’d like a nice spread in the local paper.’
‘A bit out of my line….’
‘Don’t worry. Does your gal take shorthand?’
‘Well, yes …’
‘Fine. I can dictate it to her. Then I want you to run it over to the paper. You can leave it with the city editor.’
Ten minutes later, after making a few revisions to the brief but sensational announcement, Hamilton hung up the phone with a satisfied smile. He turned to Marnie and said, ‘I guess that does it. Let the fireworks begin.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DRAWING BACK THE gauzy netting, Sir Harry Oakes swung his pyjama-clad legs over the side of the bed and sat upright, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Judging from the bright sunshine, it was well past eight o’clock and time to rise and shine. He reached for the buzzer on the bedside table to summon Jenkins and then rose and shuffled to the spacious bathroom, the black and white marble tiles cold to his feet. As he re-entered the sunny bedroom, tying the sash of his silk dressing-gown, the door swung open, admitting Jenkins with the morning newspapers, coffee, and a single yellow rose. Without a word, he waited for his employer to take his customary seat in an armchair.
‘Shall I pour, sir?’
Oakes nodded, running a hand through his thinning hair. ‘I’ll be down for breakfast shortly. Tell the cook to grill me a chop with my eggs.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said the butler as he poured a stream of pi
ping hot coffee. With a stiff bow, he turned and let himself out.
Oakes lifted his cup and deliberately splashed some of its contents into the saucer, poured the spilt coffee back into the cup, repeated the ritual, and then blew across the surface of the cup. ‘Saucered and blowed,’ he mumbled contentedly before taking his first sip of the Jamaican Blue Mountain brew. ‘Ahh,’ he said, placing the cup and saucer on the tray and reaching for the Miami Herald. He absently scanned the headlines, filled with the usual war news, before turning to the stock quotations and commodity prices, muttering ‘Humbug’, as he checked the price of gold bullion. Tossing the paper aside and taking another sip of coffee, he reached for the Nassau Daily Tribune. When he looked at the front page, Oakes started so violently that he almost dropped the cup in his lap, splashing hot coffee on his pyjamas and almost toppling over the bud vase. ‘Christ!’ he exclaimed as he gaped at the bold headline: AMERICAN BUYS HOG ISLAND TRACT and the smaller type beneath it: Announces Plans for Hotel and Casino. With a trembling hand, Oakes carefully read the article:
American businessman Thomas R. Hamilton announced today the purchase of forty-two acres on Hog Island opposite the city docks from a syndicate of Bay Street merchants. Terms were not disclosed. In a prepared statement, Hamilton, a Texas oilman, stated that he intends to develop a premier resort hotel, which will necessitate construction of a bridge from Nassau. ‘I am convinced,’ stated Hamilton, ‘that the economic future of the Bahamas lies with tourism as opposed to schemes such as crayfish canneries,’ an apparent reference to the project undertaken by the Swedish industrialist Nils Ericsson on Grand Bahama Island. He also announced his intention of seeking a change in gambling laws to allow the operation of a casino. ‘This project,’ said Hamilton, ‘will make Nassau the preferred destination over Miami Beach and Havana.’ The statement ended with a flourish, asserting that, ‘The hotel and casino will transform Hog Island into a virtual paradise island.’
‘Goddammit,’ snarled Oakes, flinging the paper aside. ‘Paradise island, my foot,’ he muttered. He rose stiffly and walked to the telephone. He dialled and then said, ‘Peterson? This is the boss. Where’s Katz? … What? Well, find him!’ He slammed down the receiver.
