Marshal announced, 'is Seacove.' `Is this all there is?' Tweed asked bluntly. `My hideaway is the top level, converted inside at absolutely no attention to expense.'
Between Marshal's cottage and the next one was a wide gap. It continued down between the cottages on the low levels, then increased in steepness as it reached the beach. `What's that ramp-like thing for?' Tweed enquired. `You'll see,' Marshal said gleefully.
As he led them to a heavy back door in his cottage Paula thought she heard the faint sound of a plane, then a massive wave broke and she felt spray on her face. Once beyond the back door Marshal had unlocked she almost gasped. The interior was luxuriously furnished, the plastered walls painted a tasteful shade of blue with pictures in gilded frames hung at intervals. The dining table (she presumed) was an antique, as were the carved chairs and an escritoire. Armchairs suggested it was also a living room. Tweed walked over and stared at two portraits of men in strange dress. He looked at Marshal. `Portraits of your grandfather and his partner, Pitt and Ezra?' `Right first time.'
Paula jumped as something heavy slapped against the windows on the sea side. Water from the wave was slithering down. `Couldn't the windows get smashed in?' she asked. `Not likely, my dear. Armoured glass.' `You've made an amazing job of the conversion' `Not me.' He grinned. 'Lavinia was in charge of that.'
He had taken a large heavy-looking enamel box from the boot of the Rolls and carried it in. He was looking round for somewhere to put it when Tweed grasped the handle to help him. It was very heavy. Marshal was stronger than he'd thought. Marshal took the whole weight, dumped the box on a ledge. `Refrigerated. Lunch for later. Prepared by Lavinia. Don't trust what Mrs Grandy might have shoved in. Now, we'll look at the view, then I'll show you the Star Sprite.'
Tweed and Paula gazed out of the window, were appalled at what they saw. They had a clear view down over the tiled sloping roofs of the two levels of cottages below. Then came the pebble beach, half obscured by surf from the recent wave.
Beyond was a small bay. Its distant narrow exit to the ocean was partly enclosed by a cape on either side which made the exit look very constricted. Marshal stood between them, now wearing a blue peaked cap. He pointed to their left. A huge granite buttress with jagged outcrops sat on the mainland as though guarding the bay. `That's Pindle Rock,' Marshal explained. 'It once had a huge spike, or pindle, projecting upwards. Got blown down by an exceptional storm. OK if you keep clear – and there is another hazard. You've got to watch it sailing our or returning. I'm talking about an underwater current midway across.' `I know this is Seacove,' Tweed said, 'but where are we on the coast?' `This -' Marshal embraced the section before the exit into the ocean – 'is Oyster Bay. Because it's shaped like one. Fishermen used to occupy these cottages but the fish went away so I bought their cottages for a song. Surfers used to be a pest, until three were killed out there on the same day.' `I can well believe it,' said Paula.
She was gazing with fascinated horror at the ocean. A storm was building up. Waves like mobile mountains were building up approaching Oyster Bay. It was sheer havoc. `Boat's through here,' Marshal said, leading them to a door at the right-hand end of the cottage. They were inside a huge shed with metal walls. Paula stared. Perched on the rail-like structure was what looked like a miniature cruise liner. Marshal handed Tweed and Paula yellow oilskins with hoods. At the same time he must have pressed a button. The huge glass door at the seaward end elevated and the wind had briefly abated, so there was a sinister quiet. `You'll need these or you'll get soaked,' Marshal insisted, still holding the oilskins. The wind began to rise again. `We are not going out in your yacht! 'Tweed shouted. `And I mean it!' `Landlubbers,' Marshal said with a sneer.
Paula thought she faintly heard the sound of a plane taking off, then decided it was the purr of the yacht's engine which Marshal had switched on. Proudly, he explained the workings of the yacht. `Look over the edge of the hull here. See that big lever at right angles to the deck? I press that down and she takes off. The forward hulls, both port and starboard, close in on each other until we leave the shed, then automatically open once we are outside on the ramp.' `Once you are outside,' Tweed corrected him. `Boat's revolutionary. It's two boats. If the rear half hits another ship the Sprite splits immediately. The forward half has its own engine and is completely seaworthy. That is why the bridge is well forward.' `Sounds tricky,' Tweed observed. `I need a really big wave coming up off the beach so Sprite is carried down the ramp runway on its crest. I think I see what I need coming…'
He had thrown the two oilskins on the shed floor in disgust, had donned his own oilskin, not using the hood as he checked the angle of his blue peaked cap. Paula glanced seaward and saw the wave Marshal had referred to approaching. As he climbed aboard and bent down to depress the starting lever he called out. `Door will close automatically the moment I've left. Best view will be from living-room window. Help yourself to the food.'
They reached the living-room window in time to see Sprite emerging from its shed. It moved forward slowly on a level section of the ramp, met the huge wave as it scudded at speed down the tilted section. It crested the wave and plunged into Oyster Bay.
Paula lifted the lid of the enamel box, one eye gazing out of the window. As she'd expected from Lavinia, the box was neatly packed. She called out to Tweed. `Chicken or ham sandwich?' `Both.'
She also brought two cardboard cups decorated with a Wedgewood design and a flask of coffee. She had a shock when she stared out of the window. The bridge where Marshal was ensconced had a rear window and she could see him bent forward over the wheel. Her shock was caused by the direction the Sprite was taking, heading for Pindle Rock. `He's going to hit Pindle,' she said tensely. `No, he isn't,' Tweed replied through a mouthful of sandwich. 'He's steering west to avoid the underwater current.'
He was. The Sprite had changed course, then proceeded across the middle of Oyster Bay, heading for the exit into the ocean. The bay was a tumult of large waves following each other. The Sprite skilfully crested each wave and disappeared briefly before it mounted the next giant. `He's got guts,' Tweed commented. 'Guts for anything, I'd say,' he added thoughtfully. `He's mad!' Paula burst out. 'Mad as the legendary hatter. Look what's waiting for him, assuming he does get through the exit from the bay.'
Tweed had to admit to himself it was a terrifying prospect. Storm clouds had suddenly swept in from the west. The open sea was reacting violently. Mountainous waves were churning up the water, turning it into a maelstrom. Surely Marshal would turn round, come back? Tweed took out his pair of binoculars from his overcoat pocket. Like Paula he had put on his coat because it was cold inside the cottage. `The fool is going to hit the right- hand cape,' Paula said.
Peering through the lenses, Tweed saw Marshal had adjusted the steering. The Sprite passed through the exit with plenty of room on either side. Then it dived into the maelstrom. Paula couldn't watch any longer.
She went back to the enamel box for the third time, collected two more plates and two chunks of Dundee cake well wrapped in greaseproof paper, refilled the cups with more coffee, took them to where Tweed was still standing. He thanked her without taking his eyes off the ocean. Paula felt compelled to watch.
The Sprite was being tossed about like a cockleshell, but now it was cresting from one wave to another. Then it turned towards the coast, swept through the exit into Oyster Bay. Passing well clear of Pindle Rock it mounted the crest of an incoming wave. Paula heard the door into the shed rising up. `How does he do that?' she wondered. `Probably has a powerful radio control – the sort of thing you use to open a power-operated garage door from the outside. Give him time to get rid of his wet clothes.'
They watched as, on the wave crest, the Sprite sailed up the rail-ramp into the shed. The door rattled shut. Paula picked up some plans off the table. `It's much smaller than it looks but the fore part has two guest suites with bedrooms, living rooms, bathrooms. Same at the part behind the bridge. Do you really think it could split into two in case of an accident?' `I think so. As it went down the slipway I noticed behind the bridge on the rear deck a wide deep metal band running from port to starboard. That, I think, is where it could split. And there was the top of a second rudder attached just below the bridge…'
He stopped talking as Marshal, clad in his country clothes, entered with a rush, slamming the door shut behind him. His face was red, his eyes gleaming with pleasure.
Tit rough out on the ocean but Sprite coped, as she always does. Lavinia will be annoyed she wasn't here' `She goes out with you in seas like that as a passenger?' Tweed asked in surprise. `More than that. She can operate the damned thing better than I can. She's brilliant at steering. So I suppose she must have some talent,' he sneered on a downbeat note. `I've had an urgent message recalling me immediately,' Tweed said quickly. 'Hope you don't mind coming back by yourself. We have seen the show, for which many thanks' `You mean I come back later after I've eaten?' `We've left you plenty to eat,' Paula intervened, seeing the scowl on his face. 'Thank you for a memorable experience.' `Then you'd better shove off,' he snapped. 'Other guests always travel down and back with me.' `What message?' Paula asked when they were well away from Seacove. `I made it up. Couldn't stand the
