The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. I didn’t want to be driving anywhere with Metcalfe.

  ‘Nonsense!’ he said. ‘Who is your doctor?’

  It made a bit of difference if he would take us to a doctor of our choice. I looked at Francesca who said, ‘I know a good doctor.’

  Metcalfe clapped his hands together. ‘Fine. Let’s get cracking.’

  So he drove us through the town and Francesca pointed out a doctor’s rooms. Metcalfe pulled up and said, ‘You two go in; I’ll wait for you here and give you a lift to Palmerini’s yard.’

  That was another facer. Apparently Metcalfe didn’t mind us knowing that he knew our whereabouts. There was something queer in the air and I didn’t like it.

  As soon as we got into the doctor’s waitingroom Francesca said, ‘Is that Metcalfe? He seems a nice man.’

  ‘He is,’ I said. ‘But don’t get in his way or you’ll get run over.’ I winced as my back gave a particularly nasty throb. ‘What the hell do we do now?’

  ‘Nothing has changed,’ said Francesca practically. ‘We knew they would be coming. Now they are here.’

  That was true. I said, ‘I’m sorry I hit your husband.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said simply. ‘The only thing I’m sorry for is that you got hurt doing it. And that it might cause trouble for you.’

  ‘It won’t,’ I said grimly. ‘Not while he’s in Torloni’s hands. And that’s another thing I don’t understand—why should Metcalfe and Torloni be interested in getting me out of trouble? It doesn’t make sense.’

  The doctor was ready for us then and he looked at my back. He said that I had torn a ligament and proceeded to truss me up like a chicken. He also bound up my hand, which was a bit damaged where the knuckles had been scraped on Estrenoli’s teeth. When we came out Metcalfe waved at us from the car, and called, ‘I’ll take you down to the yard.’

  There didn’t seem to be much point in refusing under the circumstances so we climbed into the car. As we were pulling away I said casually, ‘How did you know we were in Palmerini’s yard?’

  ‘I knew you were cruising in these waters so I asked the Port Captain if you’d shown up yet,’ said Metcalfe airily. ‘He told me all about you.’

  It was logical enough, and if I hadn’t known better I might have believed him. He said, ‘I hear you’re having trouble with your keel.’

  That was cutting a bit near the bone. I said, ‘Yes, I tried an experimental method of fastening but it doesn’t seem to be working out. I might have to take the keel off and refasten it.’

  ‘Make a good job of it,’ he said. ‘It would be a pity if it dropped off when you’re off-shore. You’d capsize immediately.’

  This was an uncomfortable conversation; it was reasonable small boat shop-talk, but with Metcalfe you never knew. To my relief he switched to something else. ‘What did you do to your face? Been in another brawl lately?’

  ‘I fell off a mountain,’ I said lightly.

  He made a sucking sound with his lips in commiseration. ‘You want to take more care of yourself, Hal, my boy. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.’

  This was too much. ‘Why the sudden solicitude?’ I asked acidly.

  He turned in surprise. ‘I don’t like seeing my friends get bashed about, especially you. You’re quite a handsome feller, you know.’ He turned to Francesca. ‘Isn’t he?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said.

  I was surprised at that. ‘I’ll survive,’ I said, as Metcalfe drew up at the gate of the boatyard. ‘I’m getting to be an expert at it.’

  Francesca and I got out of the car, and Metcalfe said, ‘Not going to show me your new keel fastening, Hal?’

  I grinned. ‘Hell, I’m a professional designer; I never show my mistakes to anyone.’ If he could play fast and loose in a hinting conversation, so could I.

  He smiled. ‘Very wise of you. I’ll be seeing you around, I suppose?’

  I stepped up to the car out of earshot of Francesca. ‘What will happen to Estrenoli?’

  ‘Nothing much, Guido will take him to a good, safe doctor and have him fixed up, then he’ll dump him in Rome after throwing a hell of a scare into him. It’s my guess that Estrenoli’s not very brave and our Guido is a very scary character when he wants to be. There’ll be no more trouble.’

  I stepped back from the car, relieved. I had been afraid that Estrenoli would be dumped at the bottom of the bay in a concrete overcoat, and I didn’t want anyone’s life on my conscience, not even his. I said, ‘Thanks. Yes, I’ll be seeing you around. One can scarcely avoid it—in a town as small as this, can one?’

  He put the car into gear and moved forward slowly, grinning from the side window. ‘You’re a good chap, Hal; don’t let anybody put one over on you.’

  Then he was gone and I was left wondering what the hell it was all about.

  IV

  The atmosphere in the shed was tense. As we walked through the yard I noticed that there were many more people about than usual; those would be Francesca’s friends. When we got into the shed Piero strode up and said, ‘What happened at the club?’ His voice was shaking with emotion.

  ‘Nothing happened,’ I said. ‘Nothing serious.’ I saw a stranger in the background, a little man with bright, watchful eyes. ‘Who the devil’s that?’

  Piero turned. ‘That’s Cariaceti, the jeweller—never mind him. What happened at the club? You went in and so did Madame; then this Metcalfe and Torloni went in; then you and Madame came out with Metcalfe. What is happening?’

  I said, ‘Take it easy; everything is all right. We bumped into Estrenoli and he got flattened.’

  ‘Estrenoli?’ said Piero in surprise, and looked at Francesca who nodded in confirmation. ‘Where is he now?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘Torloni’s got him,’ I said.

  That was too much for Piero. He sat on a trestle and gazed at the floor. ‘Torloni?’ he said blankly. ‘What would Torloni want with Estrenoli?’

  ‘Damned if I know,’ I said. ‘This whole thing is one of Metcalfe’s devious plays. All I know is that I had a bust-up with Estrenoli and Metcalfe has removed him from circulation for a while—and don’t ask me why.’

  He looked up. ‘It is said that you were very friendly with Metcalfe today.’ His voice was heavy with suspicion.

  ‘Why not? There’s nothing to be gained by antagonizing him. If you want to know what happened, ask Francesca—she was there.’

  ‘Hal is right,’ said Francesca. ‘His treatment of Metcalfe was correct. He was given much provocation and refused to be annoyed by it. Besides,’ she said with a slight smile, ‘Metcalfe would seem to be a difficult man to hate.’

  ‘It is not difficult to hate Torloni,’ growled Piero. ‘And Metcalfe is his friend.’

  This wasn’t getting us anywhere, so I said, ‘Where are Coertze and Walker?’

  ‘In the town,’ said Piero. ‘We know where they are.’

  ‘I think they had better come in,’ I said. ‘Things may start to move fast—we’d better decide what to do next.’

  He silently got up and went outside. I walked over to the little jeweller. ‘Signor Cariaceti,’ I said. ‘I understand that you have come here to look at some gems.’

  ‘That is so,’ he said. ‘But I do not wish to remain here long.’

  I went back to Francesca. ‘You’d better turn Cariaceti loose among those jewels,’ I said. ‘There may not be much time.’

  She went to talk to Cariaceti and I looked moodily at the keel, still lacking nearly two tons of weight. Things were at a low ebb and I felt pretty desperate. It would take eight more days working at high pressure to finish the keel, another day to fasten it in position and another to replace the glass-fibre cladding and to launch Sanford.

  Ten days! Would Metcalfe and Torloni wait that long?

  After a little while Francesca came back. ‘Cariaceti is amazed,’ she said. ‘He is the happiest man I have ever seen.’

  ‘I’m glad someone is happy
,’ I said gloomily. ‘This whole thing is on the point of falling to pieces.’

  She put her hand on my arm. ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ she said. ‘No one could have done more than you.’

  I sat on the trestle. ‘I suppose things could be worse,’ I said. ‘Walker could get stinking drunk just when we need him, Coertze could run amok like a mad bull and I could fall and break a few bones.’

  She took my bandaged hand in hers. ‘I have never said this to any man,’ she said. ‘But you are a man I could admire very much.’

  I looked at her hand on mine. ‘Only admire?’ I asked gently.

  I looked up to see her face colouring. She took her hand away quickly and turned from me. ‘Sometimes you make me very annoyed, Mr Halloran.’

  I stood up. ‘It was “Hal” not very long ago. I told you that my friends called me Hal.’

  ‘I am your friend,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Francesca, I would like you to be more than my friend,’ I said.

  She was suddenly very still and I put my hand on her waist. I said, ‘I think I love you, Francesca.’

  She turned quickly, laughing through tears. ‘You only think so, Hal. Oh, you English are so cold and wary. I know that I love you.’

  Something seemed to give at the pit of my stomach and the whole dark shed suddenly seemed brighter. I said, ‘Yes, I love you; but I didn’t know how to say it properly—I didn’t know what you would say when I told you.’

  ‘I say “bravo”.’

  ‘We’ll have a good life,’ I said. ‘The Cape is a wonderful place—and there is the whole world besides.’

  She saddened quickly. ‘I don’t know, Hal; I don’t know. I am still a married woman; I can’t marry you.’

  ‘Italy isn’t the world,’ I said softly. ‘In most other countries divorce is not dishonourable. The men who made the laws for divorce were wise men; they would never tie anyone to a man like Estrenoli for life.’

  She shook her head. ‘Here in Italy and in the eyes of my Church, divorce is a sin.’

  ‘Then Italy and your Church are wrong. I say it; even Piero says it.’

  She said slowly, ‘What is going to happen to my husband?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Metcalfe tells me that he will be taken back to Rome—under escort.’

  ‘That is all? Torloni will not kill him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Metcalfe said not—and I believe Metcalfe. He may be a scoundrel, but I’ve never caught him out in a black lie yet.’

  She nodded. ‘I believe him, too.’ She was silent for a while, then she said, ‘When I know that Eduardo is safe, then I will come away with you, to South Africa or any other place. I will get a foreign divorce and I will marry you, but Eduardo must be alive and well. I could not have that thing on my conscience.’

  I said, ‘I will see to it. I will see Metcalfe.’ I looked at the keel. ‘But I must also see this thing through. I have set my hand to it and there are others to consider—Coertze, Walker, Piero, all your men—I can’t stop now. It isn’t just the gold, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You must have been hurt by someone to start a thing like this. It is not your natural way.’

  I said, ‘I had a wife who was killed by a drunkard like Walker.’

  ‘I know so little of your past life,’ she said in wonder. ‘I have so much to learn. Your wife—you loved her very much.’ It was not a question, it was a statement.

  I told her a little about Jean and more about myself and for a while we talked about each other in soft voices, the way that lovers do.

  V

  Then Coertze came in.

  He wanted to know what all the hurry was and why his rest day had been broken into. For a man who didn’t want to stop work he was most averse to being interrupted in his brief pleasures.

  I brought him up to date on events and he was as puzzled as any of us. ‘Why should Metcalfe want to help us?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t intend to ask him,’ I said. ‘He might tell me the truth and the truth might be worse than any supicions we might have.’

  Coertze did as I had done and went to stare at the keel. I said, ‘Another eight days of casting—at the least.’

  ‘Magtig,’ he burst out. ‘No one is going to take this away from me now.’ He took off his jacket. ‘We’ll get busy right now.’

  ‘You’ll have to do without me for an hour,’ I said. ‘I have an appointment.’

  Coertze stared at me but did not say anything as I struggled into my jacket. Francesca helped me to put it on over the carapace of bandaging under my shirt. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘To see Metcalfe. I want to make things quite clear.’

  She nodded. ‘Be careful.’

  On the way out I bumped into Walker who looked depressed. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I said. ‘You look as though you’ve lost a shilling and found a sixpence.’

  ‘Some bastard picked my pocket,’ he said savagely.

  ‘Lose much?’

  ‘I lost my ci…’ He seemed to change his mind. ‘I lost my wallet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘We’re going to lose the gold if we aren’t careful. See Coertze, he’ll tell you about it.’ I pushed past him, leaving him staring at me.

  I went into Palmerini’s office and asked if I could borrow his car. He didn’t mind so I took his little Fiat and drove down to the yacht basin. I found the Fairmile quite easily and noted that it was not visible from the Yacht Club, which was why I hadn’t spotted it earlier. Krupke was polishing the brightwork of the wheelhouse.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Glad to see you. Metcalfe told me you were in town.’

  ‘Is he on board? I’d like to see him.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Krupke and went below. He came back almost immediately. ‘He says you’re to come below.’

  I jumped on to the deck and followed Krupke below to the main saloon. Metcalfe was lying on a divan reading a book. ‘What brings you here so soon?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to tell you something,’ I said, and glanced at Krupke.

  ‘O.K., Krupke,’ said Metcalfe, and Krupke went out. Metcalfe opened a cupboard and produced a bottle and two glasses. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  He poured out two stiff ones, and said, ‘Mud in your eye.’ We drank, then he said, ‘What’s your trouble?’

  ‘That story you told me about Torloni taking care of Estrenoli—is it true?’

  ‘Sure. Estrenoli’s with a doctor now.’

  ‘I just wanted to make sure,’ I said. ‘And to make certain, you can tell Torloni from me that if Estrenoli doesn’t reach Rome safe and sound then I’ll kill him personally.’

  Metcalfe looked at me with wide eyes. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Someone’s been feeding you on tiger’s milk. What’s your interest in the safety of Estrenoli?’ He looked at me closely, then laughed and snapped his fingers. ‘Of course, the Contessa has turned chicken.’

  ‘Leave her out of it,’ I said.

  Metcalfe smiled slyly, ‘Ah, you young folk; there’s no knowing what you’ll get up to next.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  He held up his hands in mock terror. ‘All right, all right.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘You damn’ near killed Estrenoli yourself. If you’d have hit him a fraction harder he’d have been a dead man.’

  ‘I couldn’t hit him harder.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take any bets on that,’ said Metcalfe. ‘He’s still unconscious. The quack has wired up his jaw and he won’t be able to speak for a month.’ He poured out another couple of drinks. ‘All right, I’ll see he gets to Rome not hurt any more than he is now.’

  ‘I’ll want that in writing,’ I said. ‘From Estrenoli himself—through the post in a letter from Rome datemarked not later than a week today.’

  Metcalfe was still. ‘You’re pushing it a bit hard, aren’t you?’ he said softly.

  ‘That’s what I
want,’ I said stubbornly.

  He looked at me closely. ‘Someone’s been making a man out of you, Hal,’ he said. ‘All right; that’s the way it’ll be.’ He pushed the drink across the table. ‘You know,’ he said musingly, almost to himself, ‘I wouldn’t stay long in Rapallo if I were you. I’d get that keel fixed damn’ quick and I’d clear out. Torloni’s a bad man to tangle with.’

  ‘I’m not tangling with Torloni; I only saw him for the first time today.’

  He nodded. ‘O.K. If that’s the way you’re going to play it, that’s your business. But look, Hal; you pushed me just now and I played along because Estrenoli is no business of mine and you’re by way of being a pal and maybe I don’t mind being pushed in this thing. But don’t try to push Torloni; he’s bad, he’d eat you for breakfast.’

  ‘I’m not pushing Torloni,’ I said. ‘Just as long as he doesn’t push me.’ I finished the drink and stood up. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  Metcalfe grinned. ‘You certainly will. As you said—it’s a small town.’

  He came up on deck to see me off and as I drove back to the yard I wondered greatly about Metcalfe. There had been some plain speaking—but not plain enough—and the whole mystery of Metcalfe’s position was deepened. He had as much as said, ‘Get clear before Torloni chops you,’ and I couldn’t understand his motives—after all, Torloni was his man.

  It was beyond me.

  When I got back to the boatyard work in the shed was continuing as though there had never been a break. There was a sudden glare as a chunk of gold melted and Coertze bent over the mould to pour it.

  Francesca came up to me and I said, ‘It’s fixed; you’ll hear from Eduardo within the week.’

  She sighed. ‘Come and have supper. You haven’t eaten yet.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said and followed her to the caravan.

  SEVEN: THE GOLDEN KEEL

  We worked, my God, how we worked.