Hurricane Hole

by John Kerr

  Lying on the cloth seat-covers, Evelyn listened to the rush of wind through the open window and the squeal of the tyres as Samuel made several turns. At last she could feel the car slowing down under the glare of a streetlamp. ‘Did anyone follow us?’ she asked softly.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ said Samuel. ‘We’re comin’ up on the hotel.’ He pulled over at the entrance.

  ‘All right,’ said Evelyn, casting a quick look through the rear window, satisfied the street was empty. ‘I’m getting out here. Just kill some time before going home.’

  The kindly old black man turned around in his seat and gave her a worried look. ‘You be all right, Miz Shawcross?’ he asked. ‘You send for me?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, opening the door. ‘And don’t worry. I’ll get a ride home. If anyone should telephone, tell them I’ve gone to bed and am not to be disturbed.’

  At five minutes till nine Evelyn emerged from the doorway, having avoided contact with the hotel staff or guests in the nearly empty lobby. As she glanced nervously down the street, she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. She could see that the driver was a black man, alone. Flashing a quick smile as he pulled over, Carter said, ‘Evenin’, Miz Shawcross.’ She climbed in the back and, as Carter started off, slumped down on the seat. ‘That’s the idea,’ he said, with a glance in the rear-view mirror. Carter drove through town to the highway out to Cable Beach, speeding along in the dark night while frequently checking the mirror. Within fifteen minutes he turned into the drive at Eves. Sitting up, Evelyn loosened her scarf and shook out her hair.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as Carter switched off the ignition. ‘That was very well done.’

  ‘My pleasure. Tom said to tell you he’s waiting in the living room.’

  As Evelyn hurried up the flagstones, she struggled to overcome her guilty feelings about the night-time rendezvous. With a sharp intake of breath, she turned the knob and quickly stepped inside out of the glare of the porch light. The house was quiet and dark, except for the light from the hallway. Relieved that Sir Philip and Marnie had turned in, she was walking through the panelled den when a voice said, ‘Hello, darlin’,’ in a soft Southern drawl. ‘Marnie?’ whispered Evelyn. Peering in the darkness, she discovered the African grey parrot on its perch.

  ‘God,’ muttered Evelyn, as she continued down the hallway. Tom was alone on the far side of the living room. At the sight of Evelyn, he began walking toward her, meeting her halfway and taking her into his arms without a word. For a moment they simply embraced. ‘Why is it,’ she finally said, ‘each time I see you, I feel it’s going to be the last?’

  ‘Probably because,’ he said, pulling away and looking in her eyes, ‘I’ve dragged you into something I never should have.’

  ‘Oh, Tom,’ she murmured, rising on tiptoes to kiss him. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, she abruptly broke away.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said, gently touching her chin. ‘Philip and Marnie have gone to bed.’

  ‘Did they know I was coming?’

  ‘Yes.’ He studied her pale, anxious face, thinking she looked no less beautiful but more fragile than before. ‘What can I get you?’ he asked.

  ‘Water would be fine,’ she said, remembering her determination to control her feelings.

  ‘All right,’ he said with mild surprise. ‘But I’m having a drink.’

  As he turned toward the bar, she said, ‘On second thoughts, I’ll have a whisky.’ As Hamilton went to the bar, she slipped off her coat and draped it over a chair.

  ‘How did you get to the hotel?’ he asked, as he took two glasses from the shelf.

  ‘Samuel drove me. In Father’s old Buick.’

  Hamilton dropped several cubes of ice in one of the glasses and reached for a crystal decanter. ‘No one saw you?’ he asked, as he poured, topping off the whisky with water from a pitcher.

  ‘I was flat on the back seat,’ she said as she accepted her drink. ‘Samuel was certain no one followed us.’

  Hamilton took a sip and said, ‘Why don’t we sit down, and let me explain.’ Settling in the corner of the sofa, Evelyn crossed her legs as he sat down beside her. He gave her an encouraging smile, staring into her eyes and thinking back to the first night they met.

  ‘You said you need my help,’ she began.

  ‘What I really wish,’ he said with a grimace, ‘is that we could just forget the damned war and go away to some quiet place….’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, Tom,’ she interrupted. ‘Now what is it you want from me?’

  He took a sip and said, ‘Ericsson’s construction project is almost finished, and my instincts tell me the Germans are planning an attack. Soon.’

  ‘And you want me to plead with David, or perhaps Wallis, to do something, or at least to warn them.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I won’t do it! They’ll think I’m mad. You haven’t any proof. It’s just your word, your conjecture, really. I know David. He’ll simply pick up the phone and call Ericsson.’

  ‘Listen to me,’ said Hamilton. In the ensuing silence she stared into his grey eyes and then lifted the glass to her lips. ‘I’m not asking you to call the duke or the duchess,’ he said calmly. ‘My government’s convinced that Nils Ericsson, at the very least, is aiding and abetting the enemy. And we’re planning to intern him, for the duration of the war.’ She nodded, holding his gaze. ‘The problem is that Ericsson is a resident of a British Crown Colony, where we can’t get at him.’

  ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘If we can entice him away from Nassau, we can grab him. Before the Germans attack. Publicly declare him to be a threat, aiding the Nazis, which will shame the British into moving on Hurricane Hole.’

  ‘Hurricane Hole,’ she whispered.

  ‘The U-boat base.’

  ‘And how do you intend, as you said, to entice him away?’

  ‘With your help,’ said Hamilton flatly.

  Evelyn started to protest, but willed herself to stay quiet. After taking another sip, she said, ‘What can I possibly do?’

  ‘The best way to lure Ericsson away from Nassau is tempt him to go after something, or someone, he wants.’

  Fascinated, she said, ‘Such as…?’

  ‘Me.’ Hamilton leaned forward. ‘Ericsson wants me out of the way. He’s smart enough to guess that I’m the one who reconnoitred the construction site before Christmas and killed one of his men.’

  ‘You did?’ Evelyn’s eyes widened.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hamilton with a nod. ‘And Ericsson needs that strip of land on Hog Island to finish his canal.’

  Evelyn stared impassively at him, fully aware that Ericsson knew even more than Tom realized. ‘But you told me,’ she said, ‘that he thinks you’re in Texas.’

  ‘What if he discovers I’ve come back? That I’m staying in an out-of-the-way place up in the Abacos, let’s say. If someone can show him where to find me, I think he’ll take the bait.’

  ‘But surely he’d come with his armed men.’

  ‘We’ll be ready for them. It’s a trap.’

  Evelyn gazed into his eyes. ‘Tom, what is it you want me to do?’

  ‘He knows you were seeing me before Christmas.’ She nodded. ‘So you tell him that I’ve come back and want to see you. That you know where I’m staying, where I can be found.’

  Her mind racing, Evelyn thought … just as Ericsson demanded.

  ‘The idea is that you’re coming to be with me, a discreet weekend together on one of these tiny cays. What you’d expect of two people having an affair.’ Evelyn nodded. ‘And Ericcson insists on coming with you. Right into the trap.’

  ‘But Tom,’ – she searched his eyes – ‘why? Why would I betray you?’

  ‘Betray me?’ He gave her a puzzled look.

  Suddenly reddening, Evelyn quickly said, ‘Well, not betray you, but tell Ericsson where you are and that I was planning to see you?’

  ‘The way I see it, you just casually let it drop that
you’ve heard from me; that you’re planning to see me again. You’re friends, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when he hears I’m in the Bahamas, and you know where to find me, I’m betting he’ll insist on knowing where, or even going with you. You may have to do a bit of improvising …’

  Oh, my God, she thought, staring into the distance. He was asking her to do precisely what Ericsson, with his threats, had demanded. Notify him the minute she heard from Tom. And, of course, Ericsson would jump at the chance to go after him. If Tom’s scheme succeeded, Ericsson would be gone, locked up in an American jail. And Tom was right about the duke: he’d have no alternative but to send in the Royal Navy once the Americans made their sensational announcement. The German take-over would be scotched, the duke and duchess spared. It was her only chance. ‘Oh, Tom,’ she sighed, putting her glass aside. ‘Of course I’ll help you.’ Leaning over, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  ‘Mmm,’ he murmured, caressing her through the sheer fabric of her blouse. ‘I’ve been dreaming of holding you.’

  ‘Hush,’ she whispered, as she leaned over to switch off the lamp.

  Sir Harry Oakes sat at his desk in the Westbourne library, his face obscured by the newspaper. ‘Goddamn Germans,’ he muttered, as he scanned an article about the losses in the Atlantic to hunting parties of U-boats. ‘Wolf packs,’ he said aloud, tossing the paper aside. He reached for the telephone, quickly dialled a number, and said, ‘Miss Taylor, where the hell is Pemberton? Oh, he is …’ Looking up as he placed the receiver on the cradle, he observed a tall, ascetic looking man in a three-piece suit standing in the doorway. ‘Pemberton,’ he said. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  The tall man approached Oakes, taking a worn leather case from under his arm and opening the clasp. ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly, sitting down and removing a folder from his case. Reginald Pemberton spoke with the mild British accent of a Midlands-born solicitor, diluted by years in the Bahamas.

  ‘You’ve got the papers?’ asked Oakes.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Pemberton, tapping his folder. ‘The promissory note and mortgage.’

  ‘Here,’ said Oakes brusquely, reaching across the desk. ‘Let me have a look.’ The lawyer handed him the file and Oakes extracted several typewritten sheets. A small, satisfied smile curled his mouth. ‘Twenty thousand pounds,’ he said, as he fastened the pages with a paper-clip. ‘Hah! The dough Hamilton paid those chumps is money down the drain as soon as we foreclose the mortgage.’ Pemberton nodded in agreement. ‘When can you get started?’ asked Oakes.

  ‘With the foreclosure?’

  ‘Goddamn right.’

  ‘As soon as there’s a default.’

  ‘Default?’

  ‘Yes. May I?’ He gestured to the file, which Oakes handed him across the desk. ‘Let me see,’ said Pemberton. ‘Just as I thought,’ he said after a moment. ‘An instalment of principal and interest is payable on the 31st of May. Two months hence.’

  ‘What?’ said Oakes. ‘I can’t possibly wait that long. We need to call that note.’

  ‘But, Sir Harry, the payment’s not due till the end of May.’

  ‘Goddamn it, Reggie, it was supposed to be a demand note! Payable on demand.’

  ‘I have no such recollection—’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to change it.’

  ‘Change it?’ said Pemberton timidly.

  ‘You heard me. Substitute a different page with the note payable on demand. What the hell difference does it make to Jennings and his Bay Street pals? They’ve got their cash.’

  ‘True,’ said Pemberton with a nod. ‘And considering the fact that the mortgage was never recorded, no one’s likely to notice. A bit irregular, but we might do as you suggest.’

  ‘Send out a written demand,’ said Oakes, ‘for payment in full, immediately. Then foreclose on that miserable piece of swampland.’ Rubbing his hands together, he said, ‘We’ll see what kind of stuff Hamilton is made of.’

  ‘Will there be anything else?’ asked Pemberton, rising from his chair and returning the file to his case.

  ‘No,’ said Oakes. ‘Just get to work. Oh, one last thing. I assume this foreclosure is a matter of public record. They’ll pick it up in the papers.’

  ‘Yes, I should think so.’

  ‘Good. You get a call from a reporter, refer him to me.’

  Within days of the interview with his solicitor, Oakes, relaxing in his study, was informed by the butler that the editor of the Nassau Daily Tribune was on the line. ‘Sure, I’ll talk to him,’ said Oakes. He picked up the phone and said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sir Harry? Etienne Dupuch here. Mr Pemberton suggested I give you a call.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Oakes. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘When we saw the notice regarding the foreclosure on Hog Island, we contacted your attorney.’

  ‘Right.’ Sir Harry smiled inwardly.

  ‘I gather Lake Shore Mining is in some fashion affiliated with—’

  ‘Right. One of my companies.’

  ‘I see. And the gentlemen who own the property, I gather that they—’

  ‘Yeah, I loaned them the money to buy it. My company did. And they owe me. It’s that simple. If they can’t pay, we foreclose. And that’s what we’re doing.’

  ‘Isn’t this the same property these gentlemen have agreed to sell? I assume you saw the recent announcement?’

  ‘Sure, I saw it. Some fellow says he’s gonna buy it and build a hotel.’

  ‘And a casino.’

  ‘Right. Listen, Mister, ah, Dupuch. Let’s just say he made a poor decision. He’ll have to pay off my mortgage to get clear title. And, quite frankly, I doubt he’ll do that.’

  ‘So you expect to foreclose?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And what, if I may ask, are your intentions? Will you negotiate with the buyer, with Hamilton?’

  ‘No,’ said Oakes. ‘If anybody builds a hotel and casino on Hog Island, it’s gonna be Sir Harry Oakes.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘And you can print that.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LUXURIATING UNDER THE quilt, Evelyn was vaguely conscious of a feeling of well-being, as though a great burden had been lifted. A shaft of sunlight shone through a crack in the chintz curtains, just enough to get her bearings in the strange room. She stretched out under the covers, aware that for the first time in weeks she’d awakened to a feeling other than despair. The door to the bathroom opened quietly, and Tom appeared, wearing only his striped pyjama bottoms and giving her a tender look. Returning the look with a smile, Evelyn yawned and said, ‘Good morning, darling.’

  Walking over to her bedside, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the forehead, and then on the lips. ‘It’s early,’ he said, sitting down beside her. ‘I was hoping you’d sleep.’

  Propping herself up, the covers modestly drawn up to her chin, Evelyn said, ‘I’ve been sleeping late for weeks. Today I want to be up, to seize the day.’

  ‘Carpe diem,’ said Hamilton with a smile.

  ‘Yes, carpe diem.’ As she looked at his handsome face and bare torso in the dim light she suppressed a wave of desire, a reminder of the end of the evening. To her relief, she saw that her clothes were folded on a nearby chair and her shoes on the floor beneath them. The thought of making love in Marnie’s house provoked a stab of guilt, though in the same instant she realized she was feeling guilty for the wrong reason. ‘Tom,’ she said. ‘I should get dressed and go. Before the Sassoons are up.’

  ‘Don’t worry about them.’

  ‘I’d prefer they didn’t see me. Do you have a robe?’

  ‘Sure.’ He opened a louvred closet door, took out a plaid cotton bathrobe and handed it to her as she sat up and threw back the covers. For a moment he allowed himself to look at her, aware that he was only a heartbeat away from losing his self-control. Turning away as she slipped on his robe, he said, ‘I’ll
get dressed and see if I can find us a cup of coffee. Then we’ll decide how to get you home.’

  By the time Evelyn emerged from the dressing-room, looking remarkably fresh in her clothes from the previous evening, Hamilton had returned from the kitchen with two steaming cups of coffee. ‘Milk and sugar,’ he said, handing her a cup, ‘if I remember correctly.’

  ‘You do,’ she said with a happy smile.

  ‘And I thought you’d be wanting those,’ he added, pointing to her coat and scarf on the end of the bed.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Carter can drive you to the hotel,’ said Hamilton. ‘I assume your man can meet you there and drive you home.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Evelyn, feeling oddly let down, like Cinderella, she supposed, when the ball was over. ‘And then what should I do?’

  ‘Get in touch with Ericsson.’ Hamilton took a sip of coffee and walked over to draw back the curtains, revealing the pale blue sky over the even bluer water. ‘Invite him for cocktails.’

  ‘Assuming he accepts, then what?’

  ‘Casually mention that I’ve contacted you. That you’re planning to see me.’

  ‘Just where I am supposed to be meeting you?’

  ‘There’s a tiny cay up in the Abacos, about a hundred miles north of here, called Hope Town. It’s easy to find because of its famous lighthouse, one of the old oil-burning variety.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Tell Ericsson I’m holed up in Hope Town and want you to spend a weekend with me. And then ask if he could provide you with a boat. My hunch is he’ll follow you.’

  ‘In his yacht?’

  ‘The Northern Lights?’ Hamilton shook his head. ‘The water’s too shallow in the Abacos. He’ll take one of his speedboats.’

  ‘When?’ Evelyn sat on the end of the bed and sipped her coffee.