Riviera Gold

by Laurie R. King

  An hour later, Mrs Hudson’s posture suggested that she was leaning on the rail rather than resting her hand on it. The Count was on his second bottle of champagne. The two of them spoke from time to time. I wondered what they could be saying.

  The stand-off was shifting in the Count’s favour.

  We continued to ride the bow-wave of the Bella Ragazza, just beyond the accurate range of a pistol. The yacht’s smoke had increased, its speed picking up, forcing us to keep pace. Between the change of speed and the shift in direction, even if Johnny Perez risked taking to the air again this close to night, he would be hard pressed to find us.

  The ship seemed to have a minimal crew. There could be any number belowdecks, keeping the machinery running, but I had seen only two figures moving around in the deckhouse. And though I had to assume that any man working for Basil Zaharoff was a man who knew how to keep silent, these remained hesitant to help commit cold-blooded murder.

  At least, they hadn’t yet brought out a rifle.

  They may have simply decided that, the Mediterranean being so heavily travelled, putting a bullet into our petrol tank to sink us would also raise a plume of smoke and attract rescue.

  Until night.

  Around four-thirty, Terry bent to shout in my ear. “If you want to make it back to port, we’re about at the edge of how far the tank’ll take us.”

  I met his eyes. “Terry, I’m going to leave that decision up to you.”

  He studied the yacht, then glanced back at the invisible shore, and stuck out his arm. “ ‘Courage!’ he said, and pointed toward the land, ‘This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.’ ”

  Having summoned Tennyson’s reassurance, he put his hands back on the wheel.

  Around five, I took a spell at driving the boat so Terry could stretch out his spine and shut his eyes. Half an hour later, he took over again. I stood with the wind battering at me and ate a chocolate bar, washing it down with a trickle of water. Thirty metres away, an old woman sagged more heavily against the brass rail. From time to time, she rubbed at the arthritis in her hands.

  “When the sun goes down a little more,” I shouted at Terry, “I think I’ll send up a flare. It might attract someone’s attention.” It might also trigger Count Vasilev into action, but at a certain point, that was going to be unavoidable.

  “How many do we have?”

  “Three.”

  “You want to shoot one up now?”

  “I’m not sure how visible they are in broad daylight.”

  “If someone’s looking, they’ll see it.”

  If.

  The sun would go down at 8:00. Our tank would run dry alarmingly soon after that. We were resigned to spending the night adrift, but I devoutly hoped we could avoid actively sinking to the bottom of the sea. I laid my hand against his shoulder.

  “Terry, you are a true hero.”

  He looked at me in surprise. “Good heavens, I’ve never had such fun. Though I’ll be dashed disappointed if this ends with us simply running out of gas and watching them putt away.”

  We both glanced over at the ship. Mrs Hudson’s bones were aching, I could tell, although I didn’t think a stranger would see it. The Count was still in his chair, far enough away from her that no one could claim him a threat, near enough to reach her in seconds.

  “Why doesn’t your lady just hop over the rails?” Terry wondered.

  “Perhaps because ‘my lady’ is old enough to be your grandmother, and not a strong swimmer to begin with? Perhaps because she knows that dropping over the side could feed her straight into the propeller?”

  “Mm. There is that. And I s’pose that chappie with the beard would stop her if she tried to make a great leap.”

  At this point, I could almost imagine Mrs Hudson climbing up on the railings and making said great leap. But I agreed, it was not likely to be permitted.

  The sun touched the horizon line. Shadows stretched out for miles. I sighed, squeezed Terry’s shoulder, and dropped to my knee in front of the locker, keeping my hand out of sight when I stood.

  “They may react as soon as I fire this off. Don’t let them run us down.”

  “We can dance circles around them.”

  “While the petrol lasts,” I said grimly, then pointed the brass pistol straight up and pulled its trigger.

  The spark rose, and rose—and a thousand feet over our heads, a new star come to life, floating gently on the upper winds. Count Vasilev was on his feet. A man stuck his head out of the deckhouse. Seconds later, the Bella Ragazza’s stack belched as the engine roar increased.

  I studied the two extra shells in my hand, then put my head next to Terry’s to shout, “Any idea where that thing keeps her main engine?”

  He looked down at the Very gun with alarm. “That’ll never go through her hull.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Solid teak? More likely bounce back and sink us.” And then the Hon Terry said something that negated every disparaging thought I’d ever had as to his intelligence: “Though it’d make a right mess of the deckhouse.”

  I raised my eyes to the structure. An incendiary shell would indeed make for a considerable hazard in the close confines of the glass-fronted wheelhouse. Not that one could really aim a flare-gun. Though perhaps if one were close enough…

  “I’ll need to be right on top of them. And Terry? The Count has a pistol, and Mrs Hudson might decide to jump, so watch them both. It may blind me for a minute, so if she does go over, get close enough to pull her on board, then turn and run us as far and as fast as you can before the petrol runs out. Change direction once or twice. And no lights. Got it?”

  It was a stupid, desperate plan, but when one is at the end of a rope, the only choice is to swing hard. The single thing in our favour was that the sun was in their eyes—for another five minutes.

  Keeping my hands down and behind the ever-darkening shadow of my body, I fiddled to get a second shell into the flare-gun.

  “I’m going to brace myself against the gunwale. When I say ‘now,’ duck way down and shut your eyes tight.”

  “Wait,” he said.

  “I have to do it now, before we lose the sun.”

  “No—hold on, there’s something going on up there.”

  I looked up. One of the men was bent over the top-deck railing, pointing back. The Count stood, to look out over their wake. Terry and I did the same.

  “What the deuces is that?”

  “I thought it would be Zedzed,” she told her captor once the charade had been dropped. “Who killed Niko, who wanted me on the boat. And instead, it is you.”

  “The advantage of moving in the shadow of a titan. No one notices a lesser figure.”

  “I don’t suppose there was actually any money in the San Remo bank,” she said. “Did you even show my bond to your banking friend in Paris? For that matter, do you even have such a friend in Paris?”

  “You think I am so good an actor as that? Yes, I did what I said. To my surprise—and to his—your bond was good. The money is there. Enough to keep my daughter in comfort the rest of her life, even before my other ventures.”

  “Your daughter.”

  “She is the reason I do all this.”

  “Of course she is. But what if…what if I told you I had another bond, identical to that one?”

  “I would say you are lying, to save your life.”

  “It is the truth.”

  He studied her, moved two steps closer—then stopped when her arms grasped the rails. Best that she not go overboard while in clear view of the speed-boat below. “Tell me that again.”

  “I have another bond, the precise duplicate of the one I gave you. It is in a safe place.”

  “You never said where it came from—or they?”

  “My father left them to
me. He found them amidst a shipwreck, when the thief whose property they were went down with all hands.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “But true. You’ve seen the water stains.”

  “Hmm. How many are there?”

  “As I say, there is another.”

  “And you would be willing to give it to me, if I let you go?”

  “I would be willing to divide it with you, if you let me go.”

  “Miss Hudson, you should have said this earlier. Now? I believe that the moment you step foot on dry land, I am a dead man. Or at the very least, imprisoned.”

  “Count Vasilev, you are a dead man whether I survive the night or not.”

  * * *

  —

  Two hours later, the Count had his vicuña coat over his shoulders, one of the sailors having fetched it for him. His companion on the deck wore only her dress and a decorative wrap, tugged about by the wind.

  “You look fatigued, Miss Hudson.”

  “As do you, Count Vasilev.”

  “Would you like a glass of champagne? A warmer rug for your shoulders? All you need to do is come and sit down, away from the railings.”

  “Thank you, I will not drink with you, and I am quite comfortable.”

  “Who is she? That very determined young woman who persists in following so close?”

  “You mean Miss Russell? I thought you’d met her?”

  “Briefly. I did not know she was such an ardent admirer of yours.”

  “Count Vasilev, there are many things about me you do not know. I have friends who would astound you. Some of whom will be waiting for you, at the end of this night.”

  “Ha! Oh, Miss Hudson, I have enjoyed your—what is the word? ‘Pluck’? I have always been fond of old ladies with backbones. Like your friend Mrs Langtry. Which makes me think: she would be the ideal person to hold on to that other bond of yours. Perhaps I will have a conversation with her, when I go back to Monaco.”

  “You think one old woman would trust another, with that much money? My dear Count, you live in a world of dreams.”

  “Still, I think I shall ask.”

  “You do that. You, a man who lost one employee to a bullet and now a passenger to a boating accident? Monaco has a bright-eyed young inspector in its police department who is going to be interested enough in you, as it is.”

  * * *

  —

  The sun travelled slowly, its voyage feeling as endless as theirs. The Count got up to stand at the rails, looking down at the speed-boat that continued to echo their movements like a pilot fish its shark.

  “That young woman is remarkably determined. You are sure she’s not your grand-niece or something?”

  “No blood relation. Though I would be honoured if she were.”

  * * *

  —

  An hour later, after a hushed, but clearly unsatisfactory conversation between Count and Captain, Mrs Hudson addressed her captor.

  “The crew do not seem very keen on serving your needs, Count.”

  “They are not my men, and they fear that carrying out my orders would…compromise their employer.”

  “You don’t think Zedzed is going to be angry anyway, when he finds you’ve killed me? Even if you don’t bring his men into matters?”

  “He will be angry, yes. But our friend Zedzed is a practical man. He will see that I had no choice. And if I can keep the trail from leading to his door, he will forgive my impertinence.”

  * * *

  —

  The sun grew low, and more chill.

  “You do look very tired, Miss Hudson. I imagine you would benefit from a cup of your English tea.”

  “Cruelty does not become you, Count Vasilev.”

  “You are right. I apologise.”

  “In any case, I don’t imagine the galley here would have milk in its cool box. I’ve never much cared for tea with lemon.”

  * * *

  —

  “The sun is nearly down, Miss Hudson. I’m afraid our afternoon draws to an end.”

  “Did you really have to kill the boy?”

  “You mean Niko?”

  “Are there other young men you’ve recently had murdered?”

  “Not recently, no.”

  “Who did you have pull the trigger for you, anyway? One of Zaharoff’s men?”

  “Our friend Zedzed had little to do with any of this. I think he grows old and tired, and I suspect that his new wife does not approve. No, Miss Hudson, this I did myself.”

  “Really? You left the dinner party and raced to my house to shoot him?”

  “Of course not. Your landlady might have heard. No, I arranged a meet with Niko at six o’clock, when Madame Crovetti would be at her shop, and you at Mrs Langtry’s famous Friday salon. I told him earlier that I needed something from your house, and told him to find a key—which proved no trouble, since his landlady’s son had kept a spare set in the rooms they share. We went in, I wrapped a throw-blanket around the gun for quiet, and when he turned around, I shot him. I left, expecting you to return home soon after. I dropped the hat I wore over the bridge, took off my coat, exchanged the bright neck-tie I had worn for one less noticeable, and I sat drinking coffee and reading the newspaper until it was time to leave for Mrs Langtry’s.”

  “It must have been a shock to find me still there.”

  “Yes. Fortunately, the police did not notice how long he was dead when you called them, and they arrested you. I am not sure why they let you go again.”

  “Perhaps they noticed the discrepancy of the blood?”

  “Perhaps. But they have no reason to suspect me. I was at Mrs Langtry’s that evening.”

  “But why kill the poor lad? What had he done to you?”

  “He helped me in ways that left me…vulnerable.”

  “But you could have offered him money to be silent—or kept him at a distance in the first place.”

  “Yes. I, too, thought Niko’s silence could be bought. When I first met him, I was struck by how much he resembled our friend Zedzed—clever, charming, handsome, no scruples. I expected him to grow into the same man. Ruthless, yes? But in the end, Niko proved to have some troubling limitations. His affection for friends was too close to loyalty, and I could not trust that he would, as the saying goes, ‘stay bought.’ He knew too much about my business. He had to be removed.

  “I regret having to kill him, I truly do. He was a useful man, and deserved better. But I could not take the risk, with my future in his hands. My future, and that of my daughter.”

  “If you imagine your daughter’s needs excuse your acts, Count Vasilev, I, for one, do not forgive you.”

  “I would not expect your forgiveness. I would not even ask for your understanding. And yet it is true: my choices come out of my responsibilities as a father. All else is secondary.”

  “Tell me her name—your daughter’s.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “If she’s the reason I’m about to die, I ought at least to know her name.”

  “So you can curse her?”

  “I think you know me better than that, Count.”

  “Yes. Again, my apologies. Natalia. Her name is Natalia, after an aunt my wife loved.”

  “Natalia Vasilev. May she live long, untouched by her father’s sins.”

  “That is gracious of you, Miss Hudson.”

  “She’s going to have a difficult enough time, on her own. She doesn’t need my curses as well.”

  “But she is not on her own. I will join her, very soon.”

  “No, Count Vasilev. You will not leave Monaco. Of that I am certain.”

  “Again, that British fortitude. Even though the night is falling and the end is near. Are you sure you won’t let me give you a glass of this champagne? It has
gone slightly flat, but I could…”

  He paused, turning to see one of the crew calling down from the top deck. She could not quite hear the words, but whatever they were, they had the Count on his feet, peering back into the setting sun.

  She braced her numb hands, expecting trickery, but he kept his distance. “What is it?” she asked. “What are you seeing out there?”

  It looked like the last sparkles of sunlight across waves—except that the angle was all wrong for a reflection. Which could only mean…“Lights?”

  “From more than one boat, I’d say,” Terry replied.

  Our heads swivelled back to the Bella Ragazza. A furious argument was under way. The Count pulled his gun and waved it about—first in Mrs Hudson’s general direction, then after a further shouted exchange, to point at the man from the wheelhouse. The crewman’s hands shot up, palms out. His left thumb jerked over his shoulder—Not my decision, Sir, you’ll have to talk to the Captain—but whatever his words, they only infuriated the Count further. The gun shifted slightly and the end of it flashed with a warning shot, then came back to point at the man above.

  Count Vasilev had his back to the captive, elderly grey-haired women being less of a threat than an uncooperative crew. The crewman started to call out—but she moved fast for an old woman, and the champagne bottle came down on the Count’s skull. The gun flashed. The sailor dove for safety, a window in the wheelhouse shattered, the yacht heeled over as its Captain ducked down…

  And yet, the Russian was not overcome. He pulled himself up on the rails and turned, a gleam at the end of his outstretched arm.

  She froze, I cried out, Terry cursed—and Vasilev did not pull the trigger.

  He stood, wavering, not ten feet from her rigid figure. I started to raise the flare-gun, but he was too close, the toss of the sea too uncertain…

  Mrs Hudson spoke. He did not react—or if he did, it was only a slight shift of the head. She spoke again, her hand sketching a gesture towards the approaching lights…and then she turned her back to him, pressing up against the rails.