Читать книгу The Honey Trap - Vivien Armstrong - Страница 7

CHAPTER 2

Simon slept badly, haunted by a recurrent nightmare in which he was trapped in a bottle bobbing on a vast ocean. There must be a message in all this: ‘Help’ perhaps? Wedged on the small sofa, gloomily aware of a faint smell of bilge pervading the Christabel he reached for his Rolex. Eight-fifteen! He crept down to the bathroom, inevitably occupied, presumably by his uninvited guest, Frederick’s snoring being clearly audible from the spare cabin.

He sidled into the main cabin and withdrew a clean shirt and cords, grimly noting the tumble of muddy bedclothes and the froth of discarded chiffon tossed in the corner. The bathroom door spun open, and the girl appeared, fresh and smiling as a society hostess, quite unabashed.

‘Good morning! It’s all yours.’ She stood aside with a flourish of welcome.

He nodded curtly, noting her acquisition of his new denim shirt and the rolled-up cotton trousers he had bought for Cowes Week, and pushed past without a word. If she had used all the hot water he would certainly throw her back overboard.

When he emerged, feeling considerably less barbaric after a bath and shave, a wonderful aroma of fresh coffee and bacon obliterated the musty stink of Thames water which the previous night’s adventure had introduced. Frederick appeared looking frail, wearing a dressing-gown voluminous as a horse blanket and a sickly air of anxiety. He moved towards the upper deck. ‘She still here?’ he whispered.

Before Simon could reply the girl’s voice rang out, cheerful as a wedding bell. ‘Roll up, coffee’s ready.’ Her head appeared over the stair rail. ‘Come on, just as you are, I’ve done a full grill job.’

The two men’s confusion left no alternative but to toe the line. Frederick bunched the dressing-gown to his chest and ascended, Simon at his heels crossly aware of feeling a visitor aboard his own boat.

To give the girl her due, she was a quick worker. The saloon had been whisked to rights, the table laid, coffee steaming, and sunlight sparkling through the open hatches danced about Simon’s brass knick-knacks. Even the trails of plastic debris had been eliminated, the rug still damp from a brisk set-to and all evidence of the near-drowning utterly erased.

Simon, taciturn, merely grunted, but Frederick quickly responded to the girl’s unstoppable sprightliness and introduced himself.

‘So you are Frederick,’ she prattled, ‘And you’re—?

‘Simon Alington.’

‘And Simon’s staying here for—’

‘It’s Simon’s boat.’ Frederick almost choked on his bacon in his urgency to divert Simon’s rancour.

‘Oh good.’ She smiled across the table at him. ‘I had to borrow some clothes, Simon. You don’t mind?’

It was hardly a question. Would he tell her to strip? Simon laid down his fork and finished his coffee.

‘This is all very well, Miss—’

‘Morley. Rowan Morley. Ro to my friends.’

‘Miss Morley. But you seem to have been the victim of a murderous attempt on your life. We must call the police. That is,’ he added lamely, ‘unless you can enlighten us?’

‘Murderous attempt?’ She laughed, throwing back her head, struggling with the preposterousness of such a suggestion.

‘You mean my falling overboard? I was pissed, of course.’

She became serious, laying a hand on Simon’s stiffly clenched fist. ‘I shall be forever grateful. You were wonderful!’ This last spoken with fervour, stressed by a warmly admiring gaze.

‘It was a wild party. I’ll get the sack for this …’ She paused, choosing her words. ‘I was employed by the party organizers to supervise the catering in a discreet way. Seem part of the party. They wanted it informal. Then two men I knew in Marbella recognized me and seemed to think I knew the address of a Spaniard who’s skipped to London and owes them money. We were all pretty boozed and their English had got a bit garbled but I did think threatening to throw me overboard if I didn’t cough up this man’s whereabouts was coming it a bit strong. Especially as I haven’t a clue what they were on about. I laughed: quite the worst possible thing to do! Do you know Spain? The men can get quite macho if they think a woman’s having a giggle at their expense so I quickly gave them my old address in New York just to give them something to think about. When they started slapping me around, it seemed simpler to jump. I’m an excellent swimmer,’ she assured Frederick, ‘it’s my build, you see. My mother thought I could do the Channel, given a bit of training.’ She poured more coffee, her shy boast crowning the incredible story with a glimmering of veracity.

Simon returned her insouciance with wry disbelief. The Olympic proportions were undeniable but her swimming hadn’t seemed much in evidence when he had been struggling against the undertow. There was her blasted winding sheet of a dress, of course, and being drunk couldn’t have helped. Or perhaps it did?

He shrugged. ‘Well, if you’re satisfied it was some sort of joke …’

Frederick stared from one to the other, nonplussed.

She cleared the plates and was moving towards the sink as the telephone rang.

Simon took it, standing at his desk, his back to the clumsy efforts of Frederick to withdraw out of earshot. The old man shambled across the saloon, passing plates to Rowan now rapidly disposing of the breakfast wreckage. The receiver was replaced with a click.

Simon said, ‘Frederick, old chap. Something’s cropped up. That was my publisher. There’s some sort of foul-up at the printers’. They’re in the process of completely buggering up the layout. I’m afraid there’s no alternative. I’ve got to fly out to Amsterdam today and sort it out.’

Frederick airily waved his hand, the picture of unconcern.

‘My dear boy, don’t give it a thought. I’ll get a taxi.’

‘It’s not just your clinic appointment, Frederick. I promised to drive you home. You can’t go on the train.’ This bald affirmation of Frederick’s incapacity for public transport hung in the air.

‘Could you stay on here?’ Simon parried. ‘For a few days?’

Frederick looked confused, the possibility of changing plans seeming unsurmountable. Simon’s clock ticked fussily in the silence.

The girl broke in. ‘I’ll drive.’

The two turned abruptly towards her, now busily drying her hands. She smiled. ‘It’s the least I could do. Fishing me out and all. I’ve presumably lost my job after getting sozzled last night, anyway.’

‘It would help,’ Simon conceded, his mind already fizzing with the total cock-up the Dutch were likely to make of his considered presentation. He checked his watch.

‘I would rather go back today, Simon,’ Frederick ventured. ‘Perhaps I could get a hire car all the way?’ The two men regarded each other in mute confusion, the girl pensive. Simon assessed her English rose complexion, dark hair now lying in a smooth pigtail across the shoulder of his immaculate shirt. He agonized. I don’t even know the kid, but she looks OK, speaks like a lady and at worse can only make off with the Volvo. He capitulated.

‘You’re on.’

Like a clockwork roundabout, the three suddenly jerked into motion, Frederick striding to the stairs before Simon changed his mind, the girl swiftly restoring the saloon to its usual uncluttered formality and Simon turning back to his desk to fill his briefcase.

Later, below decks, Simon reiterated the arrangements with Frederick while he stowed his overnight bag under the bunk ready for a swift take-off.

‘You’re quite happy with this, aren’t you, Frederick? If you would rather not be driven by this female, do say. I can easily,’ he lied, ‘get someone else to drive you.’

‘Not at all, my boy. Delightful girl.’ He expanded in confidence. ‘Old-fashioned figure, just like women used to be.’

‘You’ll have to push off pretty soon, leave plenty of time to get to the clinic. Your suitcase ready?’ Simon persisted. ‘We could put it in the boot with—’ he indicated the pile of canvases and carrier bags stacked behind the door—‘your shopping. I’ll lock up when I go to the airport. The girl can drop off the car keys at the office tonight when she returns the car. There’s always someone on duty at night.’

‘Where do you want her to park it?’

‘Anywhere round here as long as it’s on a residents’ spot. She’ll know. She can leave a message with the boy in the office, Wayne I think he’s called, and if there’s a problem he can repark it early tomorrow morning. Is that clear?’

Simon’s confidence in the old man’s concentration had been dampened since this last little visit. Frederick’s faculties were fuzzy at the edges these days. The girl reminded them of the time, calling over the rail with smooth assurance.

Simon followed his uncle up on deck, passing the suitcase to Rowan together with most of the parcels.

They paused by the Volvo parked near the quay. A beady-eyed onlooker joined them from the boatyard office as Simon stowed the luggage in the boot and settled the old man in the passenger seat.

Simon handed the keys to the girl. ‘See Frederick safely inside the reception area even if you have to double park and get booked.’ He slipped a handful of notes to her and elaborated on the arrangements. ‘He can’t travel far without a stop but hates to admit it,’ he confided. ‘The drive to Mayerton is pretty straightforward. Take the Oxford road and when you get back here tonight drop off the keys at the office with Wayne.’ He introduced the sharp-featured watcher from the boathouse and Rowan grinned and said, ‘I’m Rowan,’ with an ice-breaking warmth to melt even Wayne’s suspicious nature.

‘I’ll telephone Frederick at home tonight when I get to my hotel so there should be no problem.’ Simon grudgingly smiled at the girl, her soft mouth level with his own twitching with amusement.

‘There’s a full tank,’ he assured her sternly. ‘And—thanks.’

‘Lucky I swam by,’ she replied, laughing. ‘I’ll post on your stuff.’

He shrugged in a gesture of insincere generosity made awkward by his conviction of the inevitable end of his Ralph Lauren shirt. Simon was never one to look on the bright side. He dropped his gaze to the canvas espadrilles. She’s welcome to those, he thought, mustering enough grace to smile at his own perfidy.

He waved them off, checking the time as he ran back down the gangplank to finish packing.