'There's a very luxurious-looking cabin. I think you will be comfortable there.'
'Well, I'm not going below decks. First, it's closer to the water. Second, I want to see what's happening. I'm going onto the bridge.'
'If you feel like that.' Paula replied dubiously.
'I do!' Tweed walked across the gangplank with a firm step. He never grasped the rails although the gangplank was swaying with the swell. Newman called out to Paula, handed her a pair of powerful field glasses he'd dug out of his satchel.
'One for you, one for Tweed.'
Philip had started up the engines. He slid aside a window, poked his head out, shouted down.
'All aboard that's going aboard. Look lively down there.'
'He's in his element,' Paula commented as she caught up with Tweed.
Marler and Newman cast off at bow and stern, rushed across the gangplank, hauled it on board. Tweed reached the bridge as Philip began to manoeuvre the cruiser into the main channel. He stared round in surprise at the size of the bridge, at the array of controls, at the chart obtained from the boat hirer on the chart table.
'It's like the control panel of a Boeing 747,' he said quietly to Paula.
'Don't worry. It won't become airborne.'
Below them Marler and Newman were coiling up their ropes. They passed Brownsea Island, a low hulk masked by trees, looking more like Devil's Island than a pleasure resort. Then they were coming up to the exit. Tweed stood grasping a rail, guessing what was coming when they hit the open sea.
They cruised past the impotent car ferry at a few knots. Paula could see where some other very large vessel had collided with its hull, leaving a brutal graze which men were working on. They emerged into the open and the swell increased in magnitude as Philip opened up the engines and they roared across giant waves. Taking one hand off the wheel briefly, Philip pointed shoreward.
'That's Studland Bay.'
'I know.' said Tweed, who was studying the chart. 'In summer on that Shell Bay beach it's near-naked bodies lying shoulder to shoulder. Sardine sunbathing. And look at it now.'
A strand of sandy beach was deserted, behind it was a ridge covered with miserable gorse, wind-blown and grey. One word summed up the whole stretch of this coast. Desolation.
'Old Harry Rocks coming up.' called out Philip. 'We're making good progress.'
The strange large stacks of chalk cliff, standing isolated from each other, projected into the sea and had a prehistoric appearance. Behind them, like a wave, a far larger wave than those which they were swooping up and down over, rose the Purbeck Hills. Almost bereft of trees, they had a grim look and no sign of habitation anywhere.
'Well, Eve and I drove over those hills.' Philip recalled. 'What a bloody waste of time.'
Paula noticed there wasn't a hint of nostalgia in his tone. He had spoken in a quite matter-of-fact way. Well clear of the coast, they were passing the chalk stacks. They roared on, past distant Swanage and its long bay. Smoke rose drearily from several chimneys, was blown helter-skelter in all directions the moment it emerged. Paula peered out of the window Philip had now closed.
Marler and Newman were sheltering on the starboard. On the port side spume and sea water splashed over on to the deck. Philip pointed to a cape.
'That's Durlston Head. We're getting there. Once we pass that it's only St Alban's Head. Then we're there.'
When she had peered down to starboard Paula had seen that Marler had his Armalite slung over his shoulder along with his satchel. She began to feel tense. Glancing at Tweed she could see no sign of nerves in his expression.
'Brazil.' he said, 'must pay for the people who died -for Ben, the barman at the Black Bear Inn, Partridge, an innocent bystander, mistaken for Marchat at Devastoke Cottage, Rico Sava, arms dealer in Geneva, General Sterndale, and his son. To say nothing of the bankers who were murdered. Eve Warner was a willing accomplice. She shut her eyes to what was happening. And Karin and Anton Marchat. Yes, Brazil must pay his dues.'
Epilogue
Driving towards Corfe, Brazil was held up for a long time by roadworks. He thought he had never driven along a stretch of road with so many traffic lights controlling single-file traffic. The light was always red when he came to it.
Eve, in a bad temper because she had been moved to the back of the limo, was grouching constantly, which didn't help Brazil to keep his temper. Her main grudge was that Igor was sitting in the front passenger seat alongside its master.
'I don't see why I should be stuck in the back just to give a dog the best seat,' she grumbled on.
'Igor likes to see what is coming, to look at the view,' Brazil replied, waiting for a green light.
'Damn all for him to see.' she grouched.
'You never notice scenery.' he reminded her. 'I know what's eating you – the lack of a drink.'
'I could do with a vodka.' she admitted. 'We should carry a bottle in the car.'
'Then we're stopped by a young eager beaver policeman, he sees the bottle, and we waste time while I'm breathalysed.'
'You don't drink and drive.' she nagged on.
'They don't know that until they've tested me.'
'I haven't seen one policeman in the Purbecks.' She leaned forward to emphasize what she was saying. 'And I drove all over these sodden hills with Philip Cardon.'
'Have a good time with him?' Brazil enquired.
'So-so. He's just another man. Keep your eyes open.' she said suddenly. 'The light's changed.'
Brazil was wondering how she had charmed all those bankers as he drove on. The threatening storm clouds had passed over without dropping any rain. Again it was brilliant sunshine. Brazil thought the Purbecks had a quiet beauty all their own. He had been wise to buy Grenville Grange. He came up to another traffic light, which turned amber, then red. He braked.
'You could have got through the amber if you'd rammed your foot down,' Eve ranted on. 'Why not hand over the wheel to me? Then we might get there.'
'I prefer to get there alive.' he said with an edge to his voice.
'I'll have you know I'm a damned good driver.' she replied, leaning forward again.
'Good for you.'
She lit a fresh cigarette, leaving her previous stub in the ashtray, still smoking. Brazil glanced back, told her to put it out properly. She stabbed viciously with a lipstick holder she took from her shoulder bag. In her impatience she almost pulled out the canister of Mace gas.
Sitting back, she went on smoking, tipped ash on the edge of the tray so it fell onto the previously flawlessly clean floor. Someone else can clean that up, she said to herself. The light changed to green.
'Don't miss this one.' she hissed.
He waited until he'd passed the roadworks before he stopped the car. He turned round and looked at her, his voice cold.
'If you don't shut up I'll have to consider terminating your contract.'
'Go ahead. See if I care.'
He drove on, reached the beginning of Corfe, drove through the old village, turned up the steep hill to Kingston. On the way up he couldn't avoid a large watersplash. Water cascaded up, covering the windscreen briefly, running down the windows on Eve's side of the car. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. She was grinning wickedly.
'Drive up the middle of the road and you can avoid that happening,' she said, assuming a bored tone.
'With a blind bend ahead of me and maybe another vehicle speeding down?'
'There's very little traffic on this road. I remember when I was driving with Philip. He, at least, dodged all the
