High Water (1959), page 4
Lang shrugged, and seemed to go limp. He spread his small hands helplessly.
‘How the hell did you find that out? I told you not to ask any questions.’
Vivian felt himself trembling. ‘So you did damn well know? How do you think I feel about it, eh?’ His voice was harsh.
Lang walked to the window, and stood looking down at the traffic below. When he answered, his voice was tired and dull.
‘I didn’t want you to know a thing, because I like you too well. You know that. The fact is, I’m in this so deep, I can’t help myself.’
‘You seemed to be enjoying it, the last time we met,’ said Vivian bitterly, ‘or had you forgotten?’
‘That’s just it, I am enjoying myself, don’t you see?’ the voice was imploring. ‘I’ve got all I ever wanted,’ he spread his hands helplessly. ‘It’s just that I’m not free, oh, it’s hopeless, I’ll never be able to explain it all to you.’
‘Well, I’m getting out of it, whatever it is, Felix. And I’m getting out right now.’
Lang laughed, it was not a nice sound.
‘You’re right, of course.’ Then, as if he had come to a sudden decision: ‘Yes, you go now. I’ll fix it somehow.’
‘But what is going on, Felix? What can’t you cope with any more?’
He was being cautious now, but he was curious, and anxious too. He had never seen Lang so dispirited before.
The other man looked at him intently.
‘I had an idea I might be able to get out of this business altogether, that’s why I need your help, as I’ve never needed it before.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I had the idea we might be able to glide out of this together, Philip.’
As Vivian didn’t answer, he shrugged again. ‘But I’ll not manage it on my own, that’s for sure.’
‘Look, Felix, we’ve both been in pretty tough spots before, what in hell’s name have you been up to that’s so difficult now, and why didn’t you level with me in the first place? You know I’m not likely to blow my top!’
Lang glanced quickly at the door, and unwittingly lowered his voice.
‘As far as everyone else is concerned, you know no more than what I told you before you did that trip, right?’
Vivian nodded, frowning.
‘Well, then, just come in and have a drink or two, and play the innocent, and afterwards we’ll creep over to my place, and I’ll give you the whole story.’
He looked anxiously at Vivian’s taut face. ‘What d’you say?’
‘Fair enough. You got my boat for me, Felix, and I’ve known you long enough to realize that you don’t go around imagining things. All the same, the dollars, why did it have to be dollars? And what the hell do you do with all that cash?’
There was a slight sound in the passage, and Lang shook his head gently. ‘Later, old boy,’ he whispered.
The door was flung open, and Vivian goggled at the girl who stood poised in the entrance. As he took in the short, auburn hair, the moist, almost mocking mouth, and the rich curves of her slim figure, barely concealed by a vivid, off-the-shoulder summer frock, she pouted petulantly, and glided to Lang’s side, slipping a scarlet-tipped hand through his arm.
‘Felix, darling,’ her voice was a soft purr. ‘I was getting worried about you. When are you coming back?’
Her eyes, however, never left Vivian’s face.
Lang grinned, and looked more relaxed.
‘This is my old sparring-partner, Philip Vivian, you know. I’ve told you all about him.’
She moved closer to Vivian, offering her hand.
‘You didn’t tell me he was quite so beautiful, darling.’
Vivian flushed, and over her shoulder he saw Lang wink broadly.
‘Her name’s Janice, by the way, a very special friend of mine.’ Lang was obviously getting back into form.
Vivian, unused to feminine company for so long, merely nodded dumbly, feeling vaguely uneasy at her nearness, and almost apparent animal warmth.
‘Well, come along, children,’ Lang boomed. ‘Let’s go and meet the bottles!’
The large lounge, comfortably and carefully furnished, was full of bright colours, from the gay chairs and drapes, to the many table-lamps dotted here and there around the room. A radiogram was giving forth a noisy dance tune, and records were scattered in profusion across the thick carpet. A miniature, glass-topped cocktail bar filled one corner of the room, and behind it, a tall, middle-aged, grey-haired man, with a thin, pallid face, was filling some glasses with generous portions of whisky. As the trio entered, he glanced up, and Vivian caught a certain quick watchfulness, born of long practice. The eyes were sharp and grey, like little gimlets, and with the thin-lipped mouth, gave the impression of extreme hardness.
The only other occupant of the room sat quite still in a deep armchair, and as he rose to be introduced, Vivian saw a brief spasm of pain flit across the tanned, deeply lined face. Although rather squat in build, the heaviness of his body was immediately neutralized by the softness of his features, and the delicate texture of his skin. His keen, blue eyes had a sad, gentle gaze, only marred by their heavy, hood-like lids, and his mouth, which turned sharply down at one side in a permanent grimace, gave his whole expression an air of whimsicality.
Lang ushered Vivian forward. ‘Philip Vivian, meet your new employer, Mr. Jensen.’
The long, smooth hand was surprisingly firm in his grip, and as he glanced down, he noted the fine texture of the skin, criss-crossed with tiny, blue veins. The hand of an artist. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but clear, and the Danish accent gave it a certain additional charm.
‘I am very happy to know you, Mr. Vivian. I am sure we shall be doing a lot of business together in the future, but for the moment we will not talk of such sordid matters, you will please tell me about your wonderful boat.’
He frowned, and ran his fingers through his long, grey hair. ‘Ah, I forgot, please excuse me.’ He turned to the tall man behind him. ‘This is Andrew Mason, my partner, er, give him a drink, Andrew.’
Mason nodded briefly to Vivian, and turned to his well-stocked bar. Over his shoulder, rather too casually, he said, ‘All fixed up, Felix, no trouble is there?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ said Lang shortly. ‘Philip just popped up to let me know he was back all right.’
Mason stood the glass carefully on a small mat.
‘I didn’t know you were coming back to London?’ His eyebrows were raised in an unspoken question.
‘No, I wanted to get a few small matters straightened out,’ said Vivian quietly.
‘Come over here, my boy,’ commanded Jensen testily. ‘Tell me about the boat. It’s useless talking to Mason about boats, he’s an old soldier, he doesn’t understand the creatures!’
Vivian seated himself in a small chair by the older man’s side, gripping his glass tighly, and trying desperately to keep control of his mixed emotions.
Jensen laid one hand on his arm. ‘Just a moment, before you begin.’ He turned to the girl, who sat curled on the floor by the radiogram, her eyes dreamy, and a slender ankle jerking in time to the music.
‘Can’t you turn that dreadful din down a bit, Janice?’ he complained. ‘It really is a most awful sort of noise.’
She pouted again, but switched off the music. Then with her knees drawn up under her chin, she sat concentrating her gaze on Vivian’s face.
In a short while, he realized that Jensen was not just a polite listener, he was a thorough master of the subject, and from time to time he shot questions to him, some of which were of an extremely technical nature.
‘You know a lot of the sea, sir?’ queried Vivian at length.
‘Ah, my boy, there was a time, before——’ he stopped, and shook his head sadly. ‘It was a long time ago, in my old country. We lived at the top of a big fjord, and whenever we had any time, we would go sailing in my little boat. And sometimes,’ he paused, his eyes dreamy and distant, ‘we would just sit. Just sit and fish.’
There was a sudden silence in the room, and Jensen seemed unaware of their presence.
Lang laughed, a trifle too heartily. ‘Have another drink, old boy,’ and Janice was on her feet in a flash to take his empty glass.
She refilled it, and carefully carried it back to him, lingering as she bent over the chair, allowing her loose-topped dress to confuse Vivian even more.
The door opened, and Morrie, the unusual manservant, waited politely until he caught Jensen’s eye.
‘Your niece has just driven up, sir,’ he grated.
Jensen jerked back to life, smiling quietly. ‘Ah yes, it’s getting late, and I did tell Karen to call for me.’
He turned to Vivian. ‘We live out of London you see, and she insists that I go home early.’ He chuckled. ‘I am getting old I think.’
At the sound of the outer door being opened, Vivian steeled himself. If this girl was to be another Janice, he had to prepare a suitable expression, so as not to display his confusion yet again.
Whatever control he had, whatever fears he entertained, all were scattered as Karen Jensen stepped briskly through the door. His mouth went dry, and his heart pounded heavily, for to say that she was merely lovely, was a cruel understatement. Her hair, which was long, and hung loose to her shoulders, was of such a pure yellow, that it shone in the reflected light like silver. It made a perfect frame for her small, oval face, which was dominated by the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen.
Her slim, rounded body, dressed in a simply cut, cool-looking dress, gave the impression of warmth and cool maturity at the same time, and as Vivian stumbled to his feet, he found himself looking down into those amused, candid eyes, with a new feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Her hand was small and soft, like a tiny animal, he thought, and he marvelled at the rich, honey-colour of her skin.
‘You have made another conquest, Karen,’ laughed Jensen, who had been carefully watching Vivian’s reactions, and to Vivian, ‘Keep away, my boy, she’s expensive, I can tell you!’
She smiled, showing her even, white teeth. ‘Don’t be silly, Uncle, you are the expensive one!’
Her voice too, with the fascinating accent, made his blood tingle, and he was horribly aware of his own shabby jacket and scuffed shoes.
‘You should have been earlier, my dear,’ said Jensen, as she helped him to his feet. ‘He was telling us about his lovely boat.’
She turned to Vivian, her eyes wide. ‘What is the boat’s name?’
‘Seafox,’ answered Vivian, his throat suddenly dry.
‘A beautiful name,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I should like to see it one day.’
‘Er, perhaps you and Mr. Jensen would care to see her while she is in London?’
His voice must have sounded almost pleading, for she laughed outright, her hair shaking and gleaming. Then, as if she was afraid she had offended him, she laid a small, brown hand on his sleeve, and studied his face gravely. ‘Yes, we will try to come.’
Then she turned away, to say good-bye to Mason and Lang, and with hot, envious eyes, he followed her every movement. Only when she and her uncle had departed, in fact, did he allow his muscles and nerves to relax.
As Mason and Lang were talking quietly in a corner, he busied himself with another drink, although he knew it was not the whisky which was making him light-headed now. He turned, and saw Janice watching him seriously. She pulled a face.
‘It’s hell, isn’t it?’ she whispered, and Vivian noticed she was wearing a wedding-ring.
He warmed to her, glad of someone to talk to.
‘Did it show then?’ he grinned awkwardly.
‘Oh no, not much!’ she laughed. ‘I thought you were going to propose to her.’ She paused. ‘You’re wasting your time there though,’ she went on. ‘Her sole interest is looking after old Jensen, and of course, he sees that she wants for nothing.’ She watched him like a cat. ‘Nothing but a man, that is,’ she said archly. ‘And here’s me, struggling with two!’
Vivian shook his head dazedly. ‘You’re married, I see——’ he began.
‘Yes, I’m Mrs. Mason!’ And she turned away to the radiogram.
Vivian shook his head wearily. She was Mrs. Mason, yet she was obviously the girl Lang had been sleeping with. Most of the people he had seen today were mixed up in this smuggling venture, yet they didn’t look like … he paused, look like what? What does a smuggler look like? A chill crept across his spine. Perhaps even Karen? But no, that would be ridiculous. I’ll get the full dope from Felix, he decided.
Lang touched his arm.
‘Come on, old boy, we must be off, and let these two good people rest.’
Vivian darted a glance at Janice, but she appeared intent on her records.
As they descended in the lift, Lang was humming softly, his eyes dreamy.
‘You did damn well, old boy,’ he said, as the doors slid noiselessly open for them. ‘Now let’s get away from here. It always makes me rattled talking to that creep!’
Vivian glanced at him in surprise. ‘I thought you were all fixed up there?’
‘As I said earlier, it’s a helluva mix-up. But I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.’ He stiffened. ‘Oh blast!’ he muttered. A tall policeman was standing heavily by the parked Bentley. He looked up as the two men approached.
‘Your car?’ His voice was belligerent.
‘Terribly sorry, Officer,’ said Lang cheerfully. ‘Forgot to put the lights on, I see.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘I really am sorry. I’m sure you chaps have quite enough to do without running about after forgetful idiots like me.’
The policeman, taken off his guard, shifted his feet and coughed.
‘Well, you know how it is, sir,’ he began importantly.
‘I do indeed, old boy,’ Lang nodded understandingly, and suddenly held out his hand. ‘Here get a drink for yourself when you’re off duty.’
The policeman’s hand closed on the note without hesitation, and he smiled apologetically. ‘Well, thank you very much, sir. I hope you don’t think I’m in the habit of——’
Lang waved carelessly, and opened the car door. ‘Forget it, old boy, let’s just blame it all on the Government!’
He slid his heavy body behind the wheel, and Vivian climbed in beside him. The car trembled, and slid away from the kerb. Lang glanced into his mirror.
‘Bastard!’ he said dispassionately.
Vivian looked at him in mock surprise. ‘You really are a cool customer,’ he admitted. ‘D’you make a habit of that sort of thing?’
‘Can’t afford to rub the police up the wrong way, y’know.’ His voice was emphatic. ‘Otherwise they might hang about when I’m not just making a social call one day.’ He chuckled. ‘They’re a funny lot, you know. Half the people who get pinched for motoring offences do so because they will argue with the coppers. S’fact, old boy, they just don’t know the right approach, that’s all.’
‘Bit dangerous though, isn’t it?’
Lang laughed shortly. ‘Have you ever heard of a motorist getting pinched for attempted bribery?’ He laughed again. ‘’Course you haven’t, but I have a feeling I’m not the first customer that young chap’s had.’
They were both silent for a while, as Lang extricated himself from the heavier traffic. He turned his head suddenly.
‘Look, d’you mind if we go down to your boat?’
‘All right by me. Why?’
‘I’d like to see her, for one thing. And it might bring back a few memories too. Then we can have a drink and discuss the whole bloody business.’
They lapsed into silence again, as Lang made rapidly for Chelsea, the scenery changing from grey shop fronts and government offices, to coffee bars and comfortable-looking pubs, small terraced houses, and occasionally the glint of the quiet river.
They left the car at Chelsea Pier, and clumped along the board-walk to the little dinghy, which tilted alarmingly as Lang settled himself in the stern. Vivian smiled in the darkness. Lang seemed like a child, unable to disguise his pleasure at being near a boat again.
They bumped alongside, and as Vivian secured the painter, Lang heaved himself on to the deck, and sniffed approvingly.
‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ he commented, and stood back, as Vivian unlocked the wheelhouse door, and flooded the boat with light.
He too began to enjoy himself, as he showed Lang over the yacht, and as the other man stood by the wheel, examining the shining compass, he caught a brief glimpse of the past. Lang in oilskin and muffler, his face impassive, but his voice excited, yelling, ‘Open fire when your guns bear!’ and then standing at the bridge screen, unflinching, as the enemy tracers whipped past.
Lang looked surprised at Vivian’s grave expression.
‘What’s up, Philip? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
He lowered his eyes, caught off guard. ‘I was just thinking about the old days, Felix,’ he admitted.
Lang clapped him across the shoulder. ‘If it’s any consolation to you, old boy, so was I.’ He grimaced ruefully. ‘It’s all over though, I’m afraid. For chaps like us there’ll never be anything else quite the same.’ He peered into the saloon, and rubbed his hands. ‘Well, come on, where’s that drink? We’ve got a lot of talking to do.’
‘You have, Felix. Not me!’
He produced the last bottle of gin, and two glasses, then as he hunted for the bitters, and filled a small glass jug with water: ‘This is for the paying customers really. When I get ’em!’ he added. ‘But I think you’ve paid your share of my keep so I imagine you’re entitled.’
They drank slowly, while Vivian waited for the other to begin. Lang cocked one leg over the other, and stared at his glass moodily, then, with a jerk of his head, he shot a sharp glance across the table, his eyes serious.
‘Well, brace yourself, me boy, I’m going to give you the lot, and believe me, I shall value your opinion, whatever it may be,’ he said heavily.
Vivian tensed, and unconsciously leaned forward.
‘As I said before’—Lang waved his glass vaguely—‘it all began when I pulled the old man, Jensen, and the girl, she was just a kid then, out of Europe. I ran into him immediately after the war, here in London; I was in a museum of all places, just filling in time between opening hours. We got talking, and instead of going out on another blind, he took me out to his house, a lovely old place at Hampton Court, right by the river. His niece, Karen, was there, although I hardly recognized her. What with the march of time, an English boarding-school, and a good home, well, she was a bit different from the little bag of skin and bones that my sailors pulled aboard, I can tell you!’
