passing the bottle back and forth between the bars.
When we were released next morning, Wally Andrews declining to press charges, I drove out to Turtle Bay to begin closing up the shack. I made sure the crockery was clean, threw a few handfuls of mothballs in the cupboards and did not bother to lock the doors. There is no such thing as burglary on St. Mary’s.
For the last time I swam out beyond the reef, and for half an hour hoped that the dolphins might come. They did not and I swam back, showered and changed, picked up my old canvas and leather campaign bag from the bed and went out to where the pick-up was parked in the yard. I didn’t look back as I drove up through the palm plantation, but I made myself a promise that I’d be coming this way again.
I parked in the front lot of the hotel and lit a cheroot. When Marion finished her shift at noon she came out the front entrance and set off down the drive with her cheeky little bottom swinging under the mini skirt. I whistled and she saw me. She slipped into the passenger’s seat beside me.
“Mister Harry, I’m so sorry about your boat. We talked for a few minutes until I could ask the question.
- “Miss. North, while she was staying at the hotel, did she make any phone calls or send a cable?”
“I don’t remember, Mister Harry, but I could check for you.
“Now?”
“Sure,” she agreed.
“one other thing, could you also check with Dicky if he got a shot of her?” Dicky was the roving hotel Photographer, it was a good chance that he had a print of Sherry North in his file.
Marion was gone for nearly three-quarters of an hour, but she returned with a triumphant smile.
“She sent a cable on. the night before she left-” Marion handed me a flimw copy. “You can keep this copy,” she told me as I read the message.
it was addressed to: “MANSON FLAT 5 CURZON STREE7 97 LONDON w. j and the message read: “CONTRACT SIGNED RETURNING HEATHROW BOAC FLIGHT 316 SATURDAY.“There was no signature.
“Dicky had to go through all his files - but he found one.” She handed me a six-by-four glossy print. It was of Sherry North reclining on a sun couch on the hotel terrace. She wore her bikini and sunglasses, but it was a good likeness.
“Thanks, Marion.” I gave her a five-pound note.
“Gee, Mister Harry,” she grinned at me as she tucked it into the front of her bra. “For that price you can take what you fancy.”
“I’ve got a plane to catch, love.” I kissed her on the little snub nose, and slapped her bottom as she climbed out of the cab.
Chubby and Angelo came out to the airport. Chubby was to take care of the pick-up for me. We were all subdued, and shook hands awkwardly at the departure gate. There wasn’t much to say, we had said it all the night before.
As the pistonengined aircraft took off for the mainland, I glimpsed the two of them standing together at the perimeter fence.
I stopped over three hours at Nairobi before catching the BOAC flight on to London. I did not sleep during the long night flight. It was many years since I had returned to my native land - and I was coming back now on a grim mission of vengeance. I wanted very much to talk to Sherry North.
When you are flat broke, that is the time to buy a new car and a hundred-guinea suit. Look brave prosperous, and people will believe you are.
I shaved and changed at the airport and instead of a Hillman I hired a Chrysler from the Hertz Depot at Heathrow, slung my bag in the boot and drove to the nearest Courage pub.
I had a double portion of ham and egg pie, washed down with a pint of Courage while I studied the road map. It was all so long ago that I was unsure of my directions. The lush and cultivated English countryside was too tame and green after Malaya and Africa, and the autumn sunshine was pale gold when I was used to a brighter fiercer sun - but it was a pleasant drive over the downs and into Brighton.
I parked the Chrysler on the promenade opposite the Grand Hotel and dived into the warren of The Lanes. They were filled with tourists even this late in the season.
Pavilion Arcade was the address I had read so long ago on Jimmy North’s underwater sledge, and it took me nearly an hour to find it. it was tucked away at the back of a cobbled yard, and most of the windows and doors were shuttered and closed.
“North’s Underwater World” had a ten-foot frontage on to the lane.
It was also closed, and a blind was drawn across the single window. I tried without success to peer round the edge of the blind, but the interior was darkened, so I hammered on the door. There was no sound from within, and I was about to turn away when I noticed a square piece of cardboard that had once been stuck on to the bottom of the window but had fallen to the floor inside. By twisting my head acrobatically, I could read the handwritten message which had fortunately fallen face up. Enquiries to Seaview, Downers Lane, Falmer, Sussex. I went back to the car and took the road map out of the glove compartment.
It began to rain as I pushed the Chrysler through narrow lanes.
The windscreen wipers flogged sullenly at the I spattering drops and I peered into the premature gloom of early evening.
Twice I lost my way but finally I pulled up outside a gate in a thick hedge. The sign nailed to the gate read: NORTH SEAVIEW, and I believed that it might be possible to look southwards on a clear day and see the Atlantic.
I drove down between hedges, and came into the paved yard of an old double-storeyed red-brick farmhouse, with oak beams set into the walls and green moss growing on the wood-shingle roof. There was a light burning downstairs.
I Parked the Chrysler and crossed the yard to the kitchen door, turning up my collar against the wind and rain. I beat on the door, and heard somebody moving around inside. The bolts were shot back and the top half of the stable door opened on a chain. A girl looked out at me.
I was not immediately impressed by her for she wore a baggy blue fisherman’s jersey and she was a tall girl with a swimmer’s shoulders. I thought her plain - in a striking manner.
Her brow was pale and broad, her nose was large but not bony or beaked, and below it her mouth was wide and friendly. She wore no make-up at all, so her lips were pale Pink and there was a peppering of fine freckles on her nose and cheeks.
Her hair was drawn back severely from her face into a thick braid behind her neck. Her hair was black, shimmering iridescent black in the lamplight, and her eyebrows were black also, black and boldly arched over eyes that seemed also to be black until the light caught them and I realized they were the same dark haunted blue as the Mozambique current when the noon sun strikes directly into it.
Despite the pallor of her skin, there was an aura of good and glowing health about her. The pale skin had a lustre and plasticity to it, a quality that was somehow luminous so that when you studied her closely - as I was now doing - it seemed that you could see down through the surface to the flush of clean blood rising warmly to her cheeks and neck. She touched the tendril of silky dark hair that escaped the braid and floated lightly on her temple. It was an appealing gesture, that betrayed her nervousness and belied the serene expression in the dark blue eyes.
Suddenly I realized that she was an unusually handsome woman, for, although she was only in her mid- twenties, I knew she was no longer girl - but full woman. There was a strength and maturity about her, a deep sense of calm that I found intriguing.
Usually the women I choose are more obvious, I do not like to tie up too much of my energy in the pursuit. This was something beyond my experience and for the first time in years I felt unsure of myself.
We had been staring at each other for many seconds, neither of us speaking or moving.
“You’re Harry Fletcher,” she said at last, and her voice was low and gently modulated, a cultivated and educated voice. I gaped at her.
“How the hell did you know that? I demanded.
“Come in.” She slipped the chain and opened the bottom of the stable door, and I obeyed. The kitchen was warm and welcoming and filled with the smell of good food cooking.
“How did you know my name?” I asked again.
“Your picture was in the newspaper - with Jimmy’s,” she explained.
