“Sounds like a good man to have around the house,” Mallory said.
They bumped against the side ofFoxhunter and he handed her up the short ladder and followed with her suit-case. “What time would you like to leave?”
She took the case from him. “As soon as you like. Have you eaten?”
“Not since noon.”
Til change and make some supper. We can leave after-wards.”
“When she had gone Mallory pulled the dinghy round to the stern and hoisted it over the rail. By now darkness was falling fast and he turned on the red and green navigation lights and went below.
He found her working at the stove in the galley, wearing old denims and a polo-necked sweater that somehow made her look more feminine than ever. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.
“Bacon and eggs all right?”
“Suits me,” he said.
“When it was ready they sat opposite each other at the saloon table and ate in companionable silence As she poured coffee a sudden flurry of rain drummed against the roof.
She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “That doesn’t sound too good. What’s the forecast?”
“Three-to-four wind – rain squalls. Nothing to get worked up about. Are you worried?”
“Not in the slightest.” She smiled slightly. “I always like to know what I’m getting into, that’s all.”
“Don’t we all, Mrs. Grant?” He got to his feet. “I think we ought to get started.”
When he went on deck the wind Tiad increased, scattering the drizzle in silver cobwebs through the navigation lights. He went into the wheelhouse, pulled on his reefer jacket and spent a couple of minutes looking at the chart.
The door swung open, a flurry of wind lifting the chart like a sail, and Anne Grant appeared at his elbow. She was wearing her sheepskin coat and a scarf was tied around her head, peasant-fashion.
“All set?” he said.
She nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement in the light from the chart table. He pressed the starter. The engines coughed once asthmatically, then roared into life. He tookFoxhunter round in a long, sweeping curve and out through the entrance of the cove into the Channel.
The masthead light swung rhythmically from side to side as the swell started to roll beneath them and spray scattered against the window. A couple of points to starboard the red and green navigation lights of a steamer were clearly visible a mile out to sea. Mallory reduced speed to ten knots and they ploughed forward into the darkness, the sound of the engines a muted throbbing on the night air.
He grinned at her. “Nothing much wrong there. With any kind of luck we should have a clear run.”
“When do you want me to take over?”
He shrugged. “No rush. Get some sleep. I’ll call you when I feel tired.”
The door banged behind her and a small trapped wind whistled round the wheelhouse and died in a corner. He pulled the hinged seat down from the wall, lit a cigarette and settled back comfortably, watching the foam curl along the prow.
This was the sort of thing he looked forward to on a voyage. To be alone with the sea and the night. The world outside retreated steadily asFoxhunter moved into the dark-ness and he started to work his way methodically through his briefing from beginning to end, considering each point care-fully before moving on to another.
It was in recalling that de Beaumont had been in Indo-China that he remembered that Raoul Guyon had been there also. Mallory frowned and lit another cigarette. There might be a connection, although Adams hadn’t said any-thing about such a possibility. On the other hand, Guyon hadn’t been a Viet prisoner, which made a difference. One hell of a difference.
He checked the course, altering it a point to starboard, and settled back again in the seat, turning the collar of his reefer jacket up around his face. Gradually his mind wandered away on old forgotten paths and he thought of people he had known, incidents which had happened, good and bad, with a sort of measured sadness. His life seemed to be like a dark sea rolling towards the edge of the world, hurrying him to nowhere.