by R. S. Sutton
The weekend had been a break away without much thought about anything she’d left ashore. She had thought about him – he rarely left her mind – but now memories were not pulling as before. And another plus: the two other couples on board were not what she had expected. They were rather pleasant and not the brainless, champagne-swilling, cocaine-snorting cretins that she’d uncharitably planted in her mind. And apart from Preston having to pull up one of the men about calling her Val, they were perfect company. And this time even that was not really a problem. Someone calling her Val did not bring the usual, almost uncontrollable mixture of pain and anger. Anguish had been blown away on the breeze.
After clearing the river mouth, one of the girls had suggested that as it was getting hot, they should go below and get changed while the men, ‘Did the only thing they were good for, and sail the boat.’ And it had been easy to join in the giggling and general deriding of men as they changed into swimwear.
‘Knew I should have packed mine,’ one of them had said, admiring Valerie’s one-piece, classic black swimsuit. ‘Why do I always go over the top? Bloody bikinis.’
Valerie found herself back in the familiar master cabin, the only one en-suite.
‘Thought I’d let you have a little space to yourself,’ Preston had told her. Although unsure of where she was heading, but being more at ease with herself, Valerie decided to give him a glimpse of the prize that might be his.
She knew he would pass her door on the way to the main cabin when he came below to make a radio check. And knew it would be a pretty safe bet that if she left her door ajar, he would glance in as he passed. At the sound of his footsteps she left the shower, water dripping from her naked body.
The success of her plan was confirmed when, during lunch in the cockpit, Preston had said, ‘I’ll be getting the lock on your door looked at next week, but in the meantime give it a good pull; it doesn’t always close properly.’
In reply, Valerie had removed an apple from the bowl and polished it on her breast before taking a bite and tossing the remains to Preston.
‘Understood,’ she’d said with the suggestion of a smile.
***
Only the tyres were visible beneath the cover hiding the familiar shape, but it brought immediate guilt swimming about her brain before funnelling through her body.
‘Valerie?’ Preston repeated. ‘Lunch tomorrow?’
She pulled a pack of Disque Bleu from her pocket and tapped one out. Only when she was emptying her lungs of smoke did she speak. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Let me help you.’ They both peeled back the cover.
‘Sorry,’ Valerie said, putting her bag and car cover in the boot, ‘I was miles away, thinking about a client I have to see later.’
‘You didn’t touch one,’ he said, nodding to the cigarette, ‘while you were on board, I never saw you smoking.’
‘Oh that. Don’t go thinking I’ve an iron will. Got NiQuitin patches when the need arises, you know, so I don’t go climbing the walls if I can’t have one.’ She smiled. ‘But I don’t like it if there isn’t a pack in my pocket.’
‘Never saw a patch.’
‘My, my. And here’s me thinking you were the observant one. You don’t have to wear them on your shoulder, you know.’
‘Oh, I see. Lunch tomorrow?’ he asked again, closing the car door as she slid behind the wheel.
‘Not sure, I’ll call.’
As he bent to kiss her on the cheek, she put a hand to his face and turned his eyes to hers. Letting her lips relax, she gave him the gentlest of warm kisses, then, opening her mouth slightly, she turned away, leaving a sweet, moist memento.
Drawing away slowly, the light smile on his face turned to one of deadly seriousness.
***
Instead of using the hands-free, Valerie pulled into a cliff-top car park and called Southern and East, then the office. Jane’s trembling voice dragged her from the last two days, sharpening her concentration.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Bloody Vinnie sent two of his scumbags around to try and persuade me back onto the game.’
‘Hurt you?’
‘No, just pushed a pile of twenties onto the desk and asked why I was here, instead of making easy money.’
‘Right,’ said Valerie. ‘Lock up the office and get yourself round to the houseboat. Make sure you’re not followed, change buses, swap to a taxi. Just make sure you get there alone. There’s a spare key on a hook under the gangplank.’
‘Okay,’ then after a couple of seconds, she added, ‘we’re not being a bit Secret Service, are we?’
‘Just do it, Jane.’ Valerie threw the mobile onto the passenger seat and re-joined the road.
***
By now the sun was shining down out of a clear blue sky, so the man decided to use his mobile while having a coffee on the terrace of the roadside café. He made several calls before reporting back.
‘My guess,’ he said, ‘is that she’s just pushing up the expenses as much as possible.’ Nodding occasionally, he listened for a few seconds while playing around with a sugar cube. ‘I might be wrong; this lassie could be a lot sharper than we think. I spoke to that contact we have at Southern and East a few minutes ago. They said she wants them to send someone down to the boat and check for any trace of narcotics.’
He threw the cube back into the dish and listened a little longer. ‘No problem. I’ll keep on it.’ He got up, dropped a few coins on the table, picked up his plastic mac and left.
Eleven
With only a towel wrapped around her, Jane stood in the middle of the main cabin, rubbing vigorously at her hair. ‘I took the liberty of freshening up,’ she said. ‘Wanted to wash those two morons away.’
Valerie hung her jacket on the back of the door and walked into the galley. ‘Coffee?’ She took a couple of mugs from the shelf and flicked a switch.
‘Please, I’ll get dressed and come through.’
‘Well?’ said Valerie as Jane plonked herself on one of the bar stools.
‘He just keeps going on,’ said Jane. ‘It’s like water dripping on stone. Bleedin’ relentless. Gets me down at times. The bastards won’t accept I’ve turned a corner and ain’t going back. Joined the living, as it were. And then one of his goons slaps this on me.’ She dropped a pile of twenties on the table.
‘What about an ASBO?’ said Valerie. ‘Take it to the law, get him sworn off.’
Looking for inspiration, Jane stared into her coffee. ‘ASBO? He’d think it was some long-lost tribe from up the friggin’ Amazon.’
Valerie put a hand under Jane’s chin, bringing their eyes together. ‘You’re not going back.’
‘No, no,’ said Jane, ‘that ain’t even on the agenda.’
‘Even if it means you work for me forever,’ Valerie added under her breath.
‘I’d better get off,’ said Jane, sliding from the stool.
‘Go tomorrow, stay tonight.’ Valerie picked up the wad of money. ‘I’ve just got to go out for an hour.’ She leant on the doorframe, flicking through the money. ‘You can make us something for tea, look in the fridge.’ She pocketed the twenties and left.
***
Once the height of fashion, the bright green tiles either side of the peeling front door were now chipped, along with rectangles of crumbling cement showing where the odd one had been broken away. The Beggars Hat public house was just about the last of the rundown pubs in the East End and was destined for renovation or demolition. From years of pushing hands, the only clean part of the door was the brass plate. The rest looked like it hadn’t seen a paint brush in years.
Valerie dropped her half-smoked cigarette into the outdoor ash box and walked in. A chorus of whistles spread around; whether from appreciation or surprise it was imposs
ible to say. Sarcasm was more likely, Valerie thought.
A few years ago, she would have been making her way through thick smoke, but it all looked rather strange in a now fug-free atmosphere. There were still signs of days gone. The ceiling was a rich orange and no attempt had been made to fill the holes in the tables where the ashtrays had once been nailed down.
‘Now what can I get you?’ The barman wiped the counter with a grubby tea towel before replacing it over his shoulder.
‘Bottle of Diet Pepsi,’ said Valerie, looking at the battered cooler cabinet. The barman knocked the top off and was going to pour it into a glass, but Valerie, seeing the grey water in the sink, held up a hand. ‘From the bottle.’ She snatched it away before he could empty it into something unsavoury and put a five-pound note on the counter.
While waiting for the change, she glanced around. Vinnie was in a corner holding court. An expensive haircut, designer suit and highly polished shoes could not change the slimy aura that surrounded him. He’d noticed her but hunched up and pretended to be in earnest conversation with the man opposite.
His eyes stayed focused on his companion, as Valerie dragged a chair to his table and sat down. ‘Hello, Vinnie, and how’s life treating you?’
Not knowing if Valerie was a loner or could back any little chat they might have with real muscle, he looked slightly nervous. ‘Well, er… it’s Miss Stone.’ He smiled. ‘I’m fine, just fine, and how have you been? Not seen you for a long time, must be—’
‘Up to naughty ways again, aren’t you? Thought I’d warned you off. Jane’s no longer in your line of work, but you just don’t seem to be getting the message. Now what does it take, Vinnie, a little visit from the Gendarmes?’
Vinnie held his hands out in defence. ‘Just trying to help an old friend,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Jane could do with a bigger pay packet. I mean, you can’t be paying her four figures a week, now, can you?’
Valerie took an instinctive wipe around the bottle top. ‘She’s out, Vinnie. No longer interested.’
‘Okay, okay, it’s not a problem, no more calls.’ Taking a mock oath, he held up his right hand. ‘Promise.’
A couple of men started moving towards the table, but Vinnie gave a slight shake of the head. ‘What about a decent drink?’ he said. ‘Shake hands, just a misunderstanding.’
Inspecting the half-full bottle, Valerie declined then looked around. ‘And how’s your business then?’
‘Oh, can’t complain, keeping the kids in shoes.’ He inspected his fingernails and eased back into the worn leather. ‘What are you up to?’
‘At the moment? Just a little work for an insurance company. Jane’s a great help, clever girl.’
‘Yes, bright lass, always was.’ Vinnie took a swig from his vodka and orange. ‘Now there,’ he added, nodding towards the door, ‘is a hard piece of work and no mistake.’
Valerie half-turned as a tall, thin man walked across to the bar. His receding hair was cut short but was compensated by a handsome handlebar moustache. Strangely enough, the butterfly perched on a rose tattooed on his neck did not distract from his striking angular looks.
‘How’s that?’ she said, returning to her drink.
‘You pay and he’ll come with real muscle.’ Vinnie waved across. ‘Hello, Charlie, how’s it going?’ With her back to the room, Charlie didn’t notice Valerie.
‘Who’s he work for?’ asked Valerie as his raised glass was reflected in the old brewery mirror.
‘For ’imself, ain’t beholden to no one,’ said Vinnie. ‘He’s a bit like the Lone Ranger, except he does it for money. Them that don’t want to get their hands dirty call for Charlie. You get an alibi, go on holiday for a couple of weeks and leave it to ’im. Some say that there’s one or two who ended up face down in the Thames, were down to Charlie. I’m not so sure. I reckon it’s just something he likes people to think is true. But I do know that whatever they dun in the first place, they don’t go doing it again.’
‘Well, have to get off.’ Valerie reached into her inside pocket. ‘Yours, I think,’ she said, dropping the wad of money onto the table. ‘I’ve taken out sixty, fifty for upsetting Jane and ten for petrol.’
‘Sure, sure,’ he said, reaching out his hand as Valerie got up.
Being conscious that this was the bad lands, she thought it better to take his hand before leaving.
Twelve
Valerie looked over Jane’s shoulder at the short email. ‘Well, they were quick if nothing else,’ she said. ‘But it doesn’t help. Signs of smoking dope and a few dregs of coke down the back of a chair.’
‘Well that’s it,’ said Jane. ‘Sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll.’
‘Not the crime of the century, though, is it?’ As if waiting for divine inspiration, Valerie sat down and stared at the ceiling.
‘Why, what were you expecting?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe the traces of smuggling, that’s about all I could think of, really, but this is just recreational stuff, illegal but it ain’t going to set the world on fire. I think I can see a brick wall looming out of the fog.’
Deciding that whatever was going on, if anything, it had to be all down to Alan Preston, she picked up her phone. ‘David, it’s Valerie. I think we need to talk.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Preston. ‘That’s the usual preamble to it’s all been very nice, but goodbye. And we’ve hardly said hello.’
‘No, no.’ Her words were measured and deliberate. ‘I want to ask you a few things about your brother, Alan.’
‘Okay, how about dinner tonight?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Straight questions. I’d rather meet—’
‘Somewhere a bit neutral, as it were,’ he said, cutting her short.
***
The big chauffer stopped a little way from the park bench where Valerie sat throwing the occasional piece of corn to the ducks. ‘You can wait in the car, Kenny, I shouldn’t be too long.’
Walking the rest of the way on his own, he sat down beside her. ‘Different T-shirt,’ he said, pointing to the Pink Floyd illustration.
‘Yes,’ said Valerie quietly, ‘different T-shirt.’ She threw a few more pieces of corn towards the lake while they sat in silence for a minute or two.
‘Well?’ said Preston. ‘I think one of us should say something… if it’s only goodbye.’
‘Yes,’ she said, throwing a few more pieces of the cereal.
‘Well?’
Valerie brushed the last of the crumbs from her hands and looked at Preston. ‘Alan.’ She stopped and pulled a pack of Disque Bleu from her pocket. ‘Okay?’
‘Sure. Don’t think they’ve banned it in this park. Yet.’
‘Do you think your brother could have been up to anything without you knowing?’ She flicked at the Zippo and drew in a lungful of smoke.
‘Such as?’
‘Wish I knew, it’s just that…’ She paused and examined the end of the glowing cigarette. ‘There’s a young guy down on the Exe. Fisherman. He helped me bring the yacht back.’ She drew in more smoke. ‘He got very nervy when I threw your names into the conversation. And…’ Flicking ash to the ground, she hesitated.
‘Well, go on, let’s have it.’
‘He also found Sun Dancer, seemed to go straight out to where it was floating around. So…’
‘All a bit coincidental,’ said Preston.
‘Yes, but how did he know where to find it, and why was it spotless when it arrived at the marina?’ She ground the cigarette under her trainer as some children sat on the grass close by. They licked at deep yellow ice-creams, one of them chasing a dribble down his arm with a quick tongue.
‘So, my brother was, what?’ he said, turning to face her.
‘Exactly, your brother was, what? I’m afraid all I’ve got is a nervy lad with a homing instinct when it comes to yacht s
alvage.’ She thought it better to keep the last piece of information, tying Ben to Preston and the boat, to herself. ‘Ben, that’s the young fisherman, must have been told by someone about the boat and to go out and bring it back. And,’ she stressed, ‘go over it like a demented friggin’ chambermaid.’
‘Valerie!’ The mock castigation and smile did little to raise the atmosphere. ‘Never heard you swear before.’
Valerie laughed. ‘Moderated it because of the kids over there.’ She nodded towards the children still engrossed in their fast melting ice-creams. ‘But I know one or two when the brain’s idling in neutral.’
‘So, we have Alan doing something that is connected to your young friend and a mysterious, unknown person.’ He stopped for a few seconds before adding, ‘Maybe.’
‘Yes, but who and, more to the point, why? Not to put too fine a point on it, you’re as rich as Croesus, so I’m not sure it’s money.’
‘Power?’ threw in Preston, trying to be helpful. ‘Blackmail? That’s about as far as my thinking goes. What are you going to do?’ He squeezed her hand. ‘After having lunch with me, of course.’
***
‘Go and see this Ben,’ said Preston as he watched Valerie stirring her coffee. ‘Ask him straight out. Put the screws on.’
‘Yeah, suppose,’ she said absentmindedly. ‘Have to go by train – something wrong with the alternator on the car, it’s not charging properly.’
‘Come on,’ said Preston, rising from the table, ‘let’s get you some wheels. I’ve got a car you can use. I have it for running around town.’
***
‘Running around town?’ Valerie looked at the dark blue Golf R sitting in the parking bay. ‘Only a man could have a rocket ship for nipping down to Sainsbury’s.’
Preston put his head through the open window and began showing Valerie the relevant switches and controls. ‘All very simple,’ he said. ‘Flappy paddles each side of the wheel, but to tell you the truth you don’t really need them; the computer keeps it all under control. Just use your foot to go and stop.’
