He shouted to Guyon: “This is going to be rough. Hang on and get ready to swim.”
The Frenchman looked back once, his lips moving in reply, but the roaring of the sea drowned his words. Mallory held on to the tiller with both hands. Strange, swirling currents twisted them round and the dinghy was carried help-lessly in.
The opening of the cove appeared suddenly in the face of the cliff, water boiling through in a great surge. At one side white spray foamed high in the air, while, all around, dirty cream patches formed as rocks showed through.
The dinghy slewed broadside into the entrance, lifted high and smashed down upon a great green slab of rock. The tiller was wrenched from Mallory’s hand and the outboard motor was torn away with a section of the stern.
The dinghy slithered forward across the reef and ground to a halt, a jagged edge of rock smashing through the hull. Guyon went head first over the prow with a cry and Mallory went after him.
The Frenchman tried to stand and Mallory plunged through the boiling surf, hands outstretched to meet him. For a moment they clung together and then another wave, cascading in across the reef, bowled them over.
Guyon went under, and Mallory, striking after him, found himself in deep water. He grabbed the Frenchman by the collar of his jacket and struck out, the current pushing them forward. His feet touched sand and he stood up, pulling Guyon after him. Water boiled waist-high again, tugging at their limbs. As it receded they lurched forward, feet slipping in the shingle, and staggered up the narrow strip of beach at the base of the cliffs.
Someone was playing the piano, an old, pre-war Cole Porter number with something of the night in it, something of warmth and love and hope that seemed to belong to another age than this.
Crouching in the bushes below the terrace, Mallory was caught for a brief moment, unable to go forward or back. Guyon groaned beside him, coughing up water, and Mallory pulled him to his feet and they staggered up the steps.
The French window was ajar, one end of a red velvet curtain billowing out as a gust of wind lifted it. He took a deep breath and opened it wide.
The fire burned brightly on the stone hearth and Hamish Grant’s hair gleamed like silver in the lamplight as he leaned in his wing-backed chair, smoking a cheroot. Anne sat op-posite, staring into the fire while Fiona played the piano.
It was Fiona who saw them first. She gave a sudden gasp, her hands striking a false chord, and jumped to her feet. Anne stood up slowly and Hamish Grant turned his head and looked directly at the window.
“Sorry about this,” Mallory said as he moved forward, one arm still around Guymon’s shoulders.
Guyon retched suddenly and started to cough again. Mal-lory helped him to a chair by the fire and the Frenchman fell into it with a groan.
Anne stayed surprisingly calm. “Brandy, Fiona,” she said. “Quickly. Two glasses.”
Mallory moved forward, water streaming from his rubber suit, and stretched out his hands to the fire, shivering in-voluntarily as the warmth enveloped him. Hamish Grant reached out to the dark figure, dimly seen, and touched the wet rubber suit.
“A strange time to go swimming.”
“Under the circumstances we didn’t have much choice.” Mallory turned to Anne, who gazed up at him searchingly..You’re on the phone here, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Linked to Guernsey by cable, but it hasn’t been working since yesterday’s storm. That often happens. There’s the radio telephone onFoxhunter, of course. Is it important?”
“You could say that.” Mallory turned to Guyon, who was gulping the brandy Fiona had passed to him. Til have to get down to the harbour straight away. I can use the transmit-ter.”
“We’ll both go,” Guyon said. “There could be trouble wait-ing down there.”
“Any chance of an explanation?” Hamish Grant enquired mildly.
Mallory took the glass of brandy Fiona offered, swallowed half of it down and coughed as the fiery liquor caught at the back of his throat. “I’d say you were entitled to one under the circumstances. I was sent here by British Intelligence and Captain Guyon by the same branch on the other side of the Channel. We were asked to do a quick check on de Beaumont.”