The Borough
Page 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Winner bent down and picked up a smooth flat pebble, a thin stratum of slate that had been rounded off by the action of the waves. Without straightening up, he leaned back slightly and threw the stone almost parallel to the ground, catching it with his forefinger as it left his hand, so that it spun in flight. It bounced away across the glassy smooth surface of the water.
"Ten at least," said Toby. "You're brilliant, Dad."
Toby reached down for a pebble to have another go himself.
"Too small," said Winner. "The smallest ripple would throw it off course."
Sally watched as the tuition continued. It was Sunday, not the usual day for Toby, but Winner had arranged the swap to give them some organising time on Saturday. She walked on ahead and sat on a smooth boulder that poked out above the surface. The tide was low, exposing hundreds of acres of hard packed, sea rippled sand. For early February it was mild, the complete lack of wind enhancing the feeble warmth from the sun. Her thick winter coat hung open at the front. The walk down the cliffs had made her much too hot. She would probably have to carry it for the climb back up.
Yesterday had been busy, a non stop session of shopping and arranging. Today was a quiet day, a day for sorting things out in her mind. Only three days to go before they implemented Winner's crazy plan.
"Come on," Winner called out. "It's half an hour until low tide. Let's see how far along we can get." Apparently the supply of suitable sized flat pebbles had run out.
They strode out together along the water's edge, the hard ridges of sand keeping their shoes above the water that lay in the hollows. It was as well to know when the tide was due to turn. In a fast rising spring tide the leading edge of the returning water could race across the sand as fast as a man could run. Many pairs of shoes had been ruined where their owners couldn't keep up the pace. The sands were busier today, though with so much ground exposed it could never get crowded. There was a feeling of spring in the air, unrealistic perhaps, so early in February, but already the days were getting longer and lighter.
"Days like this make me feel I could be doing something better than sitting in an office," Sally said. She was walking next to Winner, so close that their arms touched from time to time.
"Go on, you enjoy it really. Why else would you have done it for so many years?"
"Nothing better to do, I suppose."
"See how you feel about it after this week. You might be glad to get back to the peace and quiet, especially if you've got a bit of cash left over to perk up the weekends."
"Toby doesn't know anything about any of this?"
"No, only what we told him in the coffee shop. Don't say any more, he's coming back over."
Toby drifted back beside them. "It's incredibly low today, Dad. You can't usually get to the old wreck."
It was true, they were only a few yards short of the spot where a few straggly rotten spars poked out of the sand. Winner looked at his watch.
"Just once round the wreck and then we start back. It won't be uncovered for long."
Out on the sea there were several motor boats. On a good day like this there would normally have been a lot of sailing dinghies, but the total lack of wind had spoiled their fun.
"Do you reckon Cavendish takes his boat out in the winter?" Sally asked, when Toby had moved on ahead again.
"It's big and powerful and it looks to have all the navigation gear. It's a mystery to me what people buy these boats for. Most of the time they just sit in the marina, slowly deteriorating."
"I suppose it might impress people he has to do business with."
"Most successful businessmen don't have much free time for that sort of thing."
"So you don't think he takes it out?"
"He might do, I really don't know. Put it this way, there are hundreds of boats in the marina, but we can only see a dozen out at sea, despite the calm weather."
"I just wondered if he might be a smuggler as well."
"And a drug dealer and counterfeiter as well, maybe? Let's stick to what we know."
"I was talking to Jack Evans. Apparently he's got a boat as well. Uses it for water skiing, as far as I know."
"What, a speedboat? Does he keep it at the marina?"
"I think so. I'll have to ask him what it's called, then we could look out for it."
"He's booked this week off as well," remembered Winner. "I hope Westerman doesn't wander in and find the office deserted."
"It shouldn't be too bad. There's a lull in the committee work and Peter Vaughan can look after the day to day stuff."
"I always worry about Peter. He sometimes says rather outrageous things. He may have to brief Westerman on some of the items for the Council meeting."
"Let's not talk about the office. We've got a full week away from it."
Winner looked back, and in the distance he could see the incoming tide surrounding the old wreck. A few stragglers had been caught by the speed of the turn and were walking fast just to keep ahead of the rising water. Winner changed course slightly to head more directly towards the higher level sand. Even the seagulls were leaving now, returning to the town for the easier pickings from the urban rubbish.
"Are you worried about Wednesday?" she asked him when they reached the safety of the half repaired promenade.
"Yes, of course I'm worried, but we'll be well prepared. I suppose I'm not so much concerned about the raid itself, we'll be well prepared for that. It's more the possibility of Cavendish seeking revenge."
"He'll be kept busy explaining things to the police and avoiding Farrier. Did you manage to get Farrier's phone number?"
Winner tapped his pocket. "It's in my notebook. He's not ex-directory."
They fell silent as they walked up the steep path. Toby dropped behind as they approached the top. Kids these days didn't seem to have as much stamina as in the past.
"I think I could deal with a fair size chocolate gateau now," Sally told them, as they stood looking back at the rapidly diminishing sands. "Perhaps a little something savoury to start with. This outdoor life certainly gives me an appetite."