The Golden Deed

by Andrew Garve

  Bello:

  hidden talent rediscovered!

  Bello is a digital only imprint of Pan Macmillan, established to breathe life into previously published classic books.

  At Bello we believe in the timeless power of the imagination, of good story, narrative and entertainment and we want to use digital technology to ensure that many more readers can enjoy these books into the future.

  We publish in ebook and Print on Demand formats to bring these wonderful books to new audiences.

  About Bello:

  www.panmacmillan.com/imprints/bello

  About the author:

  www.panmacmillan.com/author/andrewgarve

  Contents

  Andrew Garve

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Andrew Garve

  The Golden Deed

  Andrew Garve

  Andrew Garve is the pen name of Paul Winterton (1908–2001). He was born in Leicester and educated at the Hulme Grammar School, Manchester and Purley County School, Surrey, after which he took a degree in Economics at London University. He was on the staff of The Economist for four years, and then worked for fourteen years for the London News Chronicle as reporter, leader writer and foreign correspondent. He was assigned to Moscow from 1942–5, where he was also the correspondent of the BBC’s Overseas Service.

  After the war he turned to full-time writing of detective and adventure novels and produced more than forty-five books. His work was serialized, televised, broadcast, filmed and translated into some twenty languages. He is noted for his varied and unusual backgrounds – which have included Russia, newspaper offices, the West Indies, ocean sailing, the Australian outback, politics, mountaineering and forestry – and for never repeating a plot.

  Andrew Garve was a founder member and first joint secretary of the Crime Writers’ Association.

  Chapter One

  They might have been any small family party as they made for the Somerset coast that August afternoon. In fact they were the Mellanbys. Sally Mellanby was driving the car, a new Rover. She was slim and attractive, with large brown eyes and an expressive face. The jade-green sun frock she wore set off her brown skin to perfection. Her dark hair swung loose on her shoulders. She looked about twenty-five, but in fact she was thirty-two. Beside her in the car sat six-year-old Alison, curly-haired, observant, and immensely self-possessed. In the back were eight-year-old Tony, a solid, freckled boy in T-shirt and swimming trunks, who sat clutching a partially-inflated air-bed that he intended to use as a raft – and Kira. Kira was the Norwegian girl who had come to Sally as nurse-help for the summer holidays. She was eighteen, blonde, charming, and very placid, and she fitted perfectly into the lively Mellanby household.

  The moment Sally stopped the car, Alison was off with her bucket and spade, racing along the familiar dune path to ‘their place’ – a sheltered grass-covered hollow above the beach. Tony blew more air into his air-bed before following her. It was a very old air-bed and leaked from the nozzle, but it made a jolly good raft all the same, according to him. Sally and Kira unloaded rugs, towels and tea basket from the boot and toiled after the children.

  At the top of the bank they almost collided with Alison, who was racing back full of indignation. ‘Mummy,’ she gasped, ‘there’s a man in our place – a man!’

  Sally looked along the sand-bank. Above the hollow a pair of swimming trunks had been spread out to dry and an expanse of brown male chest was just visible through the marram grass. ‘Well, never mind,’ she said equably, ‘there are plenty of other places.’ Even in August, this stretch of beach was usually quiet. ‘Let’s go over there.’ She pointed, and led the way to another little nook. Kara spread the rug and they all changed into their swim suits. Sally said she intended to sun-bathe before going into the water, so Kira took the children down to the sea.

  ‘Keep close to the edge, Tony,’ Sally called after them. She watched them down to the water, and for a little while afterwards. Kira and Alison stayed in the tiny breaking waves, splashing and laughing. Tony began to paddle his raft slowly up and down with his hands, parallel to the shore. A little way out the sea was rippled by the gentle offshore breeze, but where Tony was it was as smooth and safe as a pond.

  With a sigh of contentment Sally stretched out full length on the rug, turning her face up to the sun and moving her shoulders until the sand was comfortably packed down beneath them. It was a blissfully hot day, the first for more than a week. Relaxed in the sun’s warmth she thought how lucky she was to be able to take full advantage of it. Really, she had almost too many blessings to count. A devoted husband whom she loved and admired, two delightful children, a beautiful home, no money worries. Leisure enough to make the bringing up of a family wholly enjoyable; leisure to share John’s quiet but deep enthusiasms … Soon, in fact, she might have too much leisure. Perhaps the time had come to think about another baby. They had decided that two were all they could afford to educate, but that was before John had come into his inheritance. Things were very different now, and it would be rather fun – the children would love it … Or, of course, she could do more public work – though she didn’t really see herself as an ardent committee woman. She had always found plenty to occupy her in her own home, and John liked to know she was there. Perhaps she would give up another morning a week to the Old People’s Welfare, though. She enjoyed that, and there was a direct return for effort in seeing their appreciation. She hadn’t the temperament, she decided, for abstract good works …

  She sat up as a sudden howl came from the water’s edge. Alison was in trouble, and as usual wasn’t slow to advertise the fact Kira was bending down, examining the little girl’s foot. Presently she picked her up and started to carry her in up the beach. Sally went to meet them.

  ‘A small piece of glass, I think,’ Kira said, in her careful English.

  Sally inspected Alison’s toe. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘it’s only a little cut …’ – though in fact it was quite deep. ‘We’ll wrap it up – you’ll look as if you’ve got gout. And you can pretend to be a cross old gentleman.’ She fetched the TCP from the beach bag, and a clean handkerchief, and made a bandage. Alison had stopped howling, but she started again as soon as she saw a spot of blood showing through the bandage. Sally gave her some chocolate and suggested they should start unpacking the picnic basket.

  It was only after several minutes that she noticed Tony. Taking advantage of the diversion, he had paddled his raft into deep water and was yards from the shore. Sally jumped up an
d began to run down the beach. ‘Come back, Tony,’ she called, ‘you ‘re much too far out. That’s very naughty!’ Tony grinned and started to paddle the unwieldy craft back. It turned in a circle, but came no nearer. It was almost on the edge of the rippled water, and as the offshore wind caught it the gap grew wider. In real alarm, now, Sally splashed in and began to swim after it. She wasn’t much of a swimmer, but she was better than Kira. Tony was sitting up on the raft looking a bit frightened. She shouted, ‘Keep still, Tony!’ though she couldn’t tell whether he’d heard or not. She was swimming as hard as she could but she didn’t seem to be making much headway. Anxiety, as well as exertion, took her breath away. She could hear someone calling out on the beach – Kira. She swam on, with desperate, ineffective strokes. The little waves slapped in her face. Suddenly she gulped a mouthful of water and spluttered and went under. She came up gasping and panic-stricken, thrashing her arms wildly to try and keep her head out. She’d got to reach the raft – but it was still yards ahead … Another wave slopped over her and she breathed water and choked helplessly. Fear gripped her. She was going under again … It was incredible, but she was going to drown …

  At that moment a strong hand seized her, holding her up while she got her breath back. A man’s voice, reassuringly calm, said, ‘Don’t struggle – I’ll soon get you in.’

  ‘Tony … !’ she gasped.

  ‘He’s all right,’ the man said. ‘I’ll come back for him in a minute … Just relax.’

  She felt his hands close on the sides of her face, she felt herself being dragged backwards through the water as he kicked out. She lay still, with her legs together and her hands by her sides, trying to make it easier for him, trying not to think. It seemed a terribly long way back. The man was gasping too when he finally drew her into the shallows. She turned and gazed fearfully out to sea. The raft was still there but it was visibly sagging. ‘It’ll sink,’ she cried in an agonized voice. ‘It is sinking … Tony … !’

  ‘I’ll get him,’ the man said again. ‘Don’t worry …’ He was struggling out of the clinging flannel trousers he hadn’t had time to take off. In a moment he was back in the sea, striking out with a powerful fast crawl. Sally knelt in the surf, staring after him, her face rigid with fear. Kira had joined her. They didn’t speak, but kept their eyes fixed on the distant moving head. Suddenly Sally drew in her breath sharply and clutched Kira’s arm as the air-bed heeled over. Tony had disappeared. Then she saw that the man was there. He’d reached Tony. She could see them both now. They were coming back – but slowly, oh so slowly. The man must be exhausted … But now there were other people gathered from nowhere – two young men among them, who went plunging in to help just as it seemed that the bobbing figures would never make the shore. In a few seconds Tony was brought in, scared but unharmed, and Sally was scolding him with the vehemence of enormous relief, and turning to the rescuer, the brown-chested man from ‘their place’, who was almost spent but who managed a fleeting wry grin all the same as he fought to get his breath back.

  Chapter Two

  There was a period of confusion after that as people pressed around, congratulating the rescuers and offering help and advice to Sally and asking how it had happened and tut-tutting to each other about holiday dangers – but the sensation and the interest soon died. A near-drowning, after all, was a very different matter from an actual drowning. Fifteen minutes later a casual passerby would scarcely have known that anything unusual had occurred. The two young men had slipped anonymously away to cut short the embarrassment of Sally’s thanks. The little knot of spectators had dispersed. The hero-in-chief had struggled back into his wet flannels and was drinking a cup of sweet tea from the vacuum flask. Kira, pale and quiet, was handing out sandwiches to Alison and Tony, whose appetites seemed not at all impaired by the adventure. Sally, anxious that the children should have no disturbing memories of the incident, was trying to keep a firm grip on her emotions, but she felt terribly shaken and mentally almost overwhelmed by the near-tragedy. As long as she lived, she would never forget that heart-stopping moment when the raft had overturned …

  ‘I simply don’t know how I can ever begin to thank you,’ she said to their rescuer. She had said something like it several times before, but words seemed so inadequate and her relief and gratitude were so boundless that she had to go on saying it.

  ‘Really, it was nothing,’ the man said. ‘I’m glad I happened to be around, that’s all.’

  ‘You must be absolutely worn out.’

  He grinned, showing strong white teeth. ‘I take a lot of wearing out,’ he said. It was true that he looked none the worse for his terrific exertions. He was, Sally now realized, a quite unusually large man – well over six feet, and massively built. His thick black hair was clipped short, his rather heavy jaw was dark-shadowed, and he had very vivid blue eyes. The total physical effect was one of tremendous virility. He looked about forty.

  ‘I honestly thought those last few yards were going to be too much for you,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I rather wondered myself, to tell you the truth. There was a bit of a current …’ His manner was easy, his accent polished. ‘Still, all’s well that ends well.’ He put his cup down on the grass and got to his feet. ‘Thanks for the tea, it was just what I needed … Now I guess I’ll be pushing along.’

  ‘Do please tell me your name,’ Sally said.

  The man hesitated, then smiled. ‘If you really want to know, it’s Roscoe. Frank Roscoe.’

  ‘And I’m Sally Mellanby … The awful boy over there is Tony, as you know – the little girl is my daughter Alison and that’s Kira, from Norway.’

  Roscoe smiled again, his glance resting appreciatively on Kira for a moment. ‘Always wanted to go to Norway,’ he said gallantly.

  ‘Are you on holiday here?’ Sally asked.

  ‘No, I’m on business, of a sort – hoping to find a small farm I can buy, as a matter of fact … I should have started looking this morning, but the weather was so good I decided to take time off and have a day on the beach.’

  ‘Thank goodness you did …!’ Sally was watching with some concern as Roscoe struggled to tuck his shirt into his sodden trousers. ‘You’re going to be terribly uncomfortable in those wet things … Have you far to go?’

  ‘Not really – just a few miles.’

  ‘You’ve got a car, have you?’

  ‘No I came by bus and walked along the beach.’

  ‘Then we must take you home. You can’t possibly go on a bus like that.’

  ‘Oh, I shall soon dry – I don’t want to break up your picnic.’

  ‘Heavens, we’re not in the mood for picnics now – at least, I’m not … Where are you staying?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d know it – it’s a little place called Fresney Stoke, near Bath. I’m at a pub there.’

  ‘But we live in Bath,’ Sally told him, ‘we know it very well … We’ll drop you off on the way – it couldn’t be easier …’

  ‘Well, it’s extremely kind of you …’

  ‘It’s the very least we can do … Come on, children, get ready.’

  ‘I’ll fetch the rest of my things,’ Roscoe said. He went off into the sand-hills.

  In a few minutes everyone was dressed and all the belongings were gathered up. Roscoe rejoined the party and they all set off over the bank. Alison’s toe, forgotten during tea, had begun to hurt again now, she declared, and Roscoe carried her, lifting her on to his shoulder as though she were a feather. Tony marched beside him, glancing up at him every few seconds in unconcealed admiration. When they reached the car Kira took the children in the back and Roscoe got in beside Sally.

  ‘What sort of farm are you looking for, Mr Roscoe?’ she asked, as they left the sandy track and turned into the high road.

  ‘Oh – something, quite small – a few acres for a poultry farm, actually … I’m one of those redundant Army chaps too old at forty! Now I’ve got to find some way of turning my gratuity into a liv
ing.’

  Sally gave him a sympathetic glance. ‘It must be very hard – having to start life all over again in the middle … Have you always been in the Army?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been soldiering for more than twenty years … That’s just the trouble, I don’t know anything else … Still, I expect I can learn.’

  ‘Do you know this part of the country?’

  ‘Hardly at all. A friend of mine recommended it – said he’d heard the land around here was comparatively cheap. I hope he was right!’

  ‘I should think it might be, away from Bath,’ Sally said.

  There was a little silence while she concentrated on a tricky bit of driving. Suddenly Tony piped up from the back, ‘Mummy, could I have a new air-bed some time, do you think?’

  Sally gave a little gasp, then joined in Roscoe’s roar of laughter.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so for one moment,’ she said firmly.

  Roscoe grinned at Tony. ‘Now that’s what I call real bad timing,’ he said.

  It took them little more than half an hour to reach Fresney Stoke by the side roads that Sally knew well. As they ran into the attractive stone village, she said, ‘Which is your pub, Mr Roscoe?’

  ‘The Plough – just on the left, there. Very modest, but I’m having to watch the old shekels at the moment … Fine – that’ll do nicely …’

  Sally brought the car to a stop, and turned to him. ‘I know my husband will be most anxious to meet you,’ she said. ‘If you’re not doing anything, would you come and have dinner with us tomorrow evening?’

  Roscoe made a deprecatory gesture. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Mellanby – and I’d like to … But it really isn’t necessary, you know. It was a chance encounter – could have happened to anyone.’

  ‘You saved our lives,’ Sally said gently, ‘and you could very easily have lost your own. That makes the encounter rather special, don’t you think?’

  ‘All the same …’