Blood Ties

by A. J. Quinnell

  “In that case,” Ramesh said, “the incident probably saved many lives because you must have worked harder than ever before.”

  “Maybe,” Jack conceded, “but I tell you, it happened over twenty years ago and it’s haunted me ever since. Haunted me!”

  Kirsty had been staring down at the tablecloth but at these words she raised her eyes to look at his face. She suddenly became animated.

  “Haunted you.” It was a statement not a question. She tapped the fingers of her right hand on the table. “That’s what I’ll do,” she said as though speaking to herself. “I’ll haunt him. Haunt him till I learn the truth.”

  She saw the puzzled look in the others’ eyes and smiled grimly.

  “I’m sorry. I must apologise. I’ve been lousy company and you’ve all been really kind. Fact is, I have a problem. I guess I owe you an explanation.”

  She looked at Nelson, then Lani and finally Ramesh. She held his eyes for a long time and although when she finally spoke she was looking at Nelson, Ramesh felt that she was talking to him.

  “I too have a story to tell. I’ve gotten wary of telling it, hut tonight I will. Let’s order some coffee.”

  They moved back to a table near the bar and, after being served with coffee and liqueurs, she briefly and concisely told them why she was in the Seychelles.

  The only person to interrupt her monologue was Nelson, twice. The first time when she mentioned that Lascelles claimed to have searched for Garret for three days. Nelson snorted and said, “That black-hearted bastard wouldn’t have searched for his own son for three hours!”

  The second time when she described how Lascelles had given her back Garret’s watch. Nelson shook his head, his jowls swinging. “He wouldn’t give anything back which he had won at poker.”

  She had told her story eloquently, but without emotion until she came to the confrontation at the Trianon. Her audience listened enthralled as she described the moment when she saw the panic flick across Lascelles’ eyes and she knew beyond doubt that she was right and that Garret was alive. Then her voice shook as she told of Cady’s terrible beating.

  The bar was deserted when she had finished. Before the others could comment Joan White came over and dropped a key on the table. With a smile she explained to Kirsty, “It’s a custom here. The last hotel guest in the bar serves anyone else left, washes up the glasses and locks up. Jack will show you where everything is. We have breakfast in the kitchen. Just wander in when you’re ready.”

  With a cheerful ‘good night’ she left them and was barely out of earshot when Lani, her eyes gleaming with excitement, asked, “So what do you mean ‘haunt him’?”

  Kirsty spread her hands. “Just that. I’ll follow him wherever he goes. Whenever he turns around I’ll be there.” Fiercely she said “I’ll haunt him until he cracks and I’ll learn the truth!”

  This was greeted with a silence and then Nelson said almost apologetically, “That’s going to be difficult. He’s leaving in the morning with some ornithologists. He’s been chartered to take them to Bird Island, the Amirantes and Aldabra. It’s more than 700 miles to Aldabra. After that he’s dropping them off in Mombasa. It’ll be a couple of months before they get there.”

  “No matter,” Kirsty said without hesitation. “I’ll find a way. Are there any boats for charter? I don’t have a lot of money.”

  Nelson looked dubious. “There’s a big Chris Craft at Praslin owned by an Italian, but he charters out for fishing at around a hundred dollars a day.”

  He saw her shake her head.

  “Well, that only leaves the inter-island trading schooners. They’re locally owned but I think they’d also want a fair whack. We can enquire in the morning. That apart, there’s only small fishing boats and a couple of old cabin cruisers but they’re not up to that journey.”

  Ramesh felt like a clairvoyant. He watched Kirsty’s face and knew what was in her mind. He did not understand how, but he knew. Her expression did not change but he knew the thoughts tumbling through her head.

  ‘Is this the end of the road? What can I do sitting here? Lascelles will go, and take his secret. Cady is broken and I’m alone. I have no way. What of Garret now?’

  He could feel her agony and suffer her frustration. He felt his own heart pounding. He leaned forward and said quietly, “I am owning a boat Mrs Haywood, as you know. I am thinking that I would like to visit those islands and then continue my journey to Mombasa.” He turned to Lani. “What do you think Lani?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. Both Nelson and Kirsty were looking puzzled.

  “But why, Mr Patel?” Kirsty asked. “I’ve only just met you.”

  “It matters not,” Ramesh said. He gestured at Nelson. “I only met Jack once and yet he helped me – even after I insulted him.” He thought for a moment and then went on. “Maybe it’s part of the way my life changed. I mean, the foolish idea of a man like me giving up everything and sailing off round the world. It means, of course, you are looking for something . . . an adventure . . . for people. Perhaps, Mrs Haywood, it is a kind of destiny that we meet. Just as Lani stowed away on Manasa.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Kirsty murmured, then turned her head away as tears filled her eyes. Lani leant over and covered her hand with her own. Nelson coughed and passed across a neatly folded white handkerchief.

  “It’s going to be quite a crew,” he said gruffly. “An Anglo-Indian, a Chinese-Sumatran, and an American – all with as much experience of boats as a Tibetan monk . . . what about that Canadian feller?”

  Kirsty dabbed at her eyes and said, “I don’t know. I’m seeing him tomorrow morning. Maybe after what’s happened he’ll leave and go back to work.”

  “Anyway,” Nelson said, turning to Ramesh, “I don’t want to put you off, but be aware of the dangers. Lascelles is a vicious character — and so is his crewman Carlo. The story is that Carlo joined him in East Timor a couple of years back. They had a fight there which ended in stalemate – apparently the only time Lascelles failed to win a fight – he promptly hired him and they’ve been together ever since; a right pair of bastards.”

  Ramesh shrugged. “I doubt he will try anything violent with people around. You say he has ornithologists aboard . . .?”

  “What are ornithologists?” Lani asked.

  “People who study birds,” Nelson answered. “These islands contain some very rare species. Anyway Ramesh, I admire what you’re doing, but keep a sharp weather eye open. There’s no law on the outer islands.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s have a last drink to celebrate and get off home or we’ll be here for breakfast!”

  Kirsty could not find sleep. She lay in bed listening to the waves wash up the small beach below her window. She was mentally exhausted; her mind a maelstrom of impressions. Cady lying broken in the dirt. Lascelles sneering at her in triumph. Nelson with his interminable stories, and then the final one with his fat slack face dignified by confession and passing on to her the revelation of how to deal with Lascelles. Then the crushing realisation that she did not have the resources to carry out her scheme. Finally Ramesh. She had noticed him watching her with his soft brown eyes. He seemed ill at ease during dinner, his eyes shifting to and fro. Hardly talking. What kind of a man was he? An Anglo-Indian, chasing a dream with a beautiful young Asian girl. Were they lovers? She thought not. Why the dramatic offer to take her on his boat after Lascelles? What was it about him that reminded her of Kevin? They were poles apart. This man had nothing of Kevin’s power and personality. She drifted into a half sleep. Was it a dream or was she conscious when the realisation came that, like Kevin, this man could see into her?

  In his bunk on Manasa Ramesh was also sliding into sleep. Why had he done it? On the drive back to Victoria Nelson had left him with no illusions about the danger Lascelles represented. He had not tried to argue him out of it, but had felt honour bound to inform him fully.

  Curiously, Ramesh was not at all worried about Lascelles. He was profoundly w
orried about himself. At his age he should not commit himself because a woman looked at him. Should not imagine he could read her mind. Not allow his senses to be drugged by a supposed attraction. He had drunk two glasses of wine with dinner. Maybe that was it. Maybe he had been drunk.

  He turned over and pounded the pillow and settled his head and went to sleep, relaxed and knowing that he had not been drunk.

  Chapter 13

  Kirsty heard his voice while she was still thirty yards down the corridor.

  “No goddam drink-sodden Irishman is gonna tell me what to do!”‘

  As she reached the door she heard O’Reilly’s reply: “Get back into that bed you overgrown ape!”

  Hastily she opened the door. They were standing by the bed glaring at each other. At least O’Reilly was glaring. It was hard to see Cady’s eyes, which were sunk in folds of blackening flesh. His whole face was a patchwork of dark bruises and white plaster, and his mouth was distorted and swollen. He was dressed only in faded jeans and, apart from heavy bandaging around his ribs, the rest of his torso was also mottled with bruises.

  They both turned and O’Reilly said, “Maybe you can make him see sense.” He gave Cady a final disdainful look and strode past her and out of the door, closing it loudly behind him.

  “Cady, what’s going on?”

  “I’m gettin’ out of here – I hate hospitals!” He turned and walked to a chair and picked up his shirt. “Anyway, I’m OK. That bog walker doesn’t know nothin’.” His voice was slurred through his broken mouth.

  “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  He turned and tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. “Sure. Not a lovely sight. I ache all over but lying in bed ain’t gonna help none. Best thing is to keep movin’. In a couple of days I’ll go find that Lascelles and we’ll see how he does in round two!”

  She sighed. “God, Cady, you’ve just had the worst beating a man could ever have and you’re looking for another one. Please sit down. We have to talk.”

  He shook his head and pointed at the bed. “No Kirsty, you sit down. There’s a couple of things you have to understand.”

  He struggled into his shirt and she shrugged and moved to the bed and sat down. He stood, legs apart, and studied her face for a moment, then said:

  “Just let me talk. Don’t interrupt till I’ve finished. I’ve had a couple of worse beatings than that. Once when I was a kid of eighteen in Toronto. I got cocky with some guys in a motorcycle gang. They put me in hospital for a month. Another time a couple of years ago I was working on a rig and the cook was a Scotsman twice my age and half my size. He was one goddam lousy cook and one day I threatened to stuff some of his lousy stew down his throat. Turned out he was an ex-professional boxer, an’ earlier had been an unarmed combat instructor in the Royal Marines.” He paused and shook his head dolefully at the memory. “Another spell in hospital including a broken arm. But that time I got smart. When I got back to the rig I paid him half my salary for the next three months, and for many hours a day he taught me everythin’ he knew. Hell, I even ate his goddam food and smiled sweetly. Well, since then I never had no trouble in a fight. Problem is it made me a bit complacent an’ yesterday I paid the price.” He drew a deep breath. “Understand Kirsty that Lascelles is just a brawler-sure, powerful and strong — but I made a mistake. I took my eyes off him for a split second at the wrong time. That one punch stunned me, made me goddam helpless. All I could do was cover up an’ take it. Believe me, that ain’t gonna happen again.”

  Kirsty did believe him. In spite of the appalling condition of his face he still radiated strength and confidence.

  “In a couple of days,” he said, “we’ll find out just how tough Lascelles is.”

  She shook her head. “He left this morning for Bird Island. Sit down, Cady, and I’ll bring you up to date.”

  He sat down and she quickly ran though the events starting with the look she had seen in Lascelles’ eyes confirming her belief that Garret was alive. Cady had seen it too and his shared belief warmed her deeply. She told him about Nelson, Ramesh and Lani and her plan literally to haunt Lascelles until she learned the truth. She shook her head at his suggestion that he beat it out of him at the first opportunity. It wouldn’t work. Lascelles would not incriminate himself because of a beating. Somehow she knew that if she stuck close to the man he would eventually crack. It was not a question of logic. Her whole quest was illogical. It was a total gut feeling. She then told him that it could be two months or more before they arrived in Mombasa. Perhaps he ought to do some fishing and take the State of Haryana on its next trip in three weeks?

  At that Cady stood up and crossed to the bed and sat beside her and picked up her hand.

  “No way, Kirsty. I stay with you – at least if you want me. I’ve still got around five thousand bucks left an’ I’m in no hurry to get back to work.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be around if Lascelles cuts up rough.”

  There was a silence then she said, “Cady, something worries me, and I have to talk to you very frankly,” She looked up at him, her face very serious. “I’m not going to allow you to come along unless one thing is clearly understood. Otherwise I’ll feel bad.”

  “What is it?”

  She paused, knowing she had to pick her words carefully.

  “We’re friends. Good friends. I admire you more than I can say, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done and tried to do . . . but Cady, you must understand now that we’re never going to be lovers . . .”

  “Aw hell, Kirsty!”

  “No . . . let me finish. It has to be said. I don’t want you spending time and money coming with me if you think anything more than friendship and affection might develop. I’ve only one thing in my mind — finding Garret. Nothing else matters. I don’t have the capacity at this time to love anyone; maybe I never will have again.”

  Even as she said it she felt the doubt inside her. Remembered her thoughts of the previous night as she drifted into sleep.

  Cady was nodding his head, his battered eyes narrowed in thought. He turned and took both her hands in his.

  “OK, Lady. Now hear this. An’ let’s not talk about it no more. What you said is true, an’ I’m glad you said it. But get it clear — I’m not comin’ with you to try to get into your pants. OK? I know I said that night on the ship that I’m generally attracted to women older’n me and there ain’t no doubt you’re beautiful,” he squeezed her hands tight. “But I’d rather have you as a real good friend without complications, without problems. Fact is, I never had a woman for a friend before. I like it. Any kind of sexual connection would ruin it. I know that just as you do. I’m comin’ along to help a friend, that’s all. OK?”

  She saw the sincerity in his eyes and felt immense relief. She smiled and said, “OK. But do one thing for me. Stay in here one more day . . . please.”

  He shook his head. “Not necessary. I know I’m OK. Today I’ll rest up at the hotel and swim a little. Tomorrow I’ll help this guy Nelson with the engine.”

  The next morning Nelson was filing at the damaged teeth of the sprocket when a shadow fell across the workbench. He looked up at the figure filling the open door, grinned and said “Don’t tell me-you’re Cady.”

  “Right on.” Cady walked over and they shook hands.

  Nelson said, “You walk through Victoria looking like that, you’ll scare every child in sight.”

  Cady shrugged. “An’ all the women.” He was looking at the items on the workbench. He reached down and picked up a timing chain.

  “Jeez! This looks older’n me!”

  “It probably is,” Jack said. “Do you know anything about engines?”

  “A fair bit. I’ve been around machinery all my life.” He was examining the sprocket in the vice. “That’s good work, Jack. How can I help?”

  Nelson took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his face, then took a cigarette from a packet on the bench and offered one to Cady, who shook his head. Nelson lit up, inha
led deeply and then blew smoke across the bench.

  “Well,” he said. “While I finish reforming these teeth you could straighten the rocker shaft and one rocker, then clean up and reface a couple of valves.”

  “Will do.” Cady looked around the well fitted out workshop. There was another workbench with a vice further down. He walked over to a wall covered with neatly slotted tools and selected several. He put them on the bench and took off his shirt. Nelson winced as he saw the purpling bruises and the tight bandage. He said:

  “Are you fit to work?”

  “Don’t start,” Cady said shortly. “I’ve had enough shit from Kirsty and Mrs White. I’m no goddam invalid!”

  “OK. OK.” Nelson went back to his filing, but for the next few minutes he glanced repeatedly at the other bench, then, satisfied that Cady knew precisely what he was doing, he concentrated on his own work.

  For the next two hours they hardly spoke a word, both absorbed in their efforts. Finally Jack glanced at his watch, put down his file and walked over to Cady’s bench. He picked up a refaced valve and grunted in approval, then said, “Let’s get a drink before lunch.”

  They were to join the others for lunch on Manasa and as they strolled across to the Yacht Club Jack described the further work needed on the engine and then said, “It would have taken me seven or eight days, but with your help we’ll get it done in half that time or less — no doubt Kirsty’s anxious to get after Lascelles.”

  “Just itchin’,” Cady agreed, “but God knows how he’ll react to bein’ shadowed. Maybe he will crack, but I doubt it.” He sighed. “Trouble is I can’t think of any other way. Kirsty’s right; the truth won’t be forced out of him.”

  Jack gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you truly believe the kid is alive?”

  “Yes,” Cady answered immediately. “I also saw that look in Lascelles’ eyes at the Trianon – but it’s more than that. I’ve believed it since the first time Kirsty told me the story on the ship. Don’t know why. I guess it’s her total belief that kinda rubs off.”