Santorini. Alistair MacLean

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      The six survivors from the Delos were standing around rather awkwardly, not talking, when Talbot and Van Gelder reached the wardroom. The four men, as McKenzie had suggested, did present rather an odd spectacle. They looked rather as if they had just raided an old clothes shop, few of the items of their clothing being a match, and for the most part, fitting only where they touched. In striking contrast, both girls were immaculately clad: dressed in white blouses and white skirts, they could have stepped straight from the pages of Vogue.

      ‘Please,’ Talbot said. ‘All of you be seated. Before we talk, I suggest we get our priorities right. First things first. You’ve had a harrowing experience and a lucky escape. I suggest you will not take amiss the suggestion of a suitable restorative.’ He pressed a bell and a steward entered. ‘Jenkins. Refreshments. Find out what they would like.’ Jenkins did so and left.

      ‘I’m the captain,’ Talbot said. ‘Talbot. This is Lieutenant-Commander Ven Gelder. Ah!’ The door had opened. ‘And this is Surgeon-Commander Grierson, whom you have met and whose services you fortunately didn’t require, and Lieutenant Denholm.’ He looked at the short stocky man seated before him. ‘I take it that you, sir, are Mr Andropulos, the owner.’

      ‘I am, Commander, I am.’ Andropulos had black hair, black eyes, white teeth and a deeply tanned complexion. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved that morning but then, he would always look as if he hadn’t shaved that morning. He leapt to his feet, took Talbot’s hand, and shook it vigorously. He positively radiated a combined aura of benevolence and bonhomie. ‘Words cannot express our gratitude. A close-run thing, Commander, a very close-run thing. We owe you our lives.’

      ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that but I’ll admit you were in a rather nasty pickle.’

      ‘Pickle? Pickle?’

      ‘Dangerous circumstances. I deeply regret both your loss of the members of your crew and your yacht.’

      ‘The yacht is nothing. I can always buy another. Well, Lloyd’s of London can buy it for me. Still sadder to lose an old friend like the Delos but sadder still, much sadder, to lose the three members of my crew. Been with me for many years. I treasured them all.’

      ‘Who were they, sir?’

      ‘My engineer, chef and steward. With me for many years.’ Andropulos shook his head. ‘They will be sadly missed.’

      ‘Wasn’t it odd for a chef and steward to be in the engine-room?’

      Andropulos smiled sadly. ‘Not aboard the Delos, Commander. It was not exactly run along the lines of a ship of the Royal Navy. They were in the habit of having an after-lunch drink there with the engineer. They had my permission, of course, but they preferred to be discreet about it—and what more discreet place than the engine-room? Alas, their discretion cost them their lives.’

      ‘That is ironic. May I be introduced to the others?’

      ‘Of course, of course. This is my very dear friend Alexander.’ Alexander was a tall man with a thin, unsmiling face and black, cold eyes who didn’t look as if he could possibly be anybody’s very dear friend. ‘This is Aristotle, my captain.’ Andropulos didn’t say whether Aristotle was the first or last name: he had watchful eyes and a serious expression but looked as if he might, unlike Alexander, be capable of smiling occasionally. ‘And this is Achmed.’ He didn’t say what occupation Achmed held. He was young, pleasant-faced and smiled readily. Talbot couldn’t even begin to guess at his nationality except that he wasn’t Greek.

      ‘But I forget myself. Deplorable, deplorable. I forget myself. Such manners. Should have been ladies first, of course. This is my niece, Irene.’ Van Gelder hadn’t made any mistakes about her, Talbot thought, except that he’d missed out on the wide green eyes and a rather bewitching smile. ‘And this is Eugenia.’ This one, Talbot reflected, was much closer to Van Gelder’s concept of a warm-blooded young Latin lady. She had a slightly dusky skin, black hair and warm brown eyes. And she also, no doubt, was quite beautiful. It seemed to Talbot that Van Gelder was going to find himself in something of a quandary.

      ‘I congratulate you, Mr Andropulos,’ Talbot said gallantly, ‘and ourselves. Certainly the loveliest passengers we’ve ever had aboard the Ariadne. Ah. The steward.’

      Andropulos took his glass—a scotch and not a small one, and disposed of half the contents in one gulp.

      ‘My goodness, I needed that. Thank you, Commander, thank you. Not as young as I was nor as tough, either. Age cometh to us all.’ He quaffed the rest of his drink and sighed.

      Talbot said: ‘Jenkins, another for Mr Andropulos. A slightly larger measure this time.’ Jenkins looked at him expressionlessly, closed his eyes momentarily and left.

      ‘The Ariadne,’ Andropulos said. ‘Rather odd, is it not. Greek name, British vessel.’

      ‘Courtesy gesture to your Government, sir. We are carrying out a hydrographic charting exercise with your people.’ Talbot saw no point in mentioning that the Ariadne had never carried out a hydrographic exercise in its life and that the ship had been called Ariadne to remind the Greeks that it was a multi-national vessel and to persuade a wavering Greek government that perhaps NATO wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

      ‘Hydrographic, you say. Is that why we’re moored fore and aft—a fixed platform for taking bearings.’

      ‘A fixed platform, yes, but in this instance the purpose is not hydrographic. We’ve had quite a busy afternoon, Mr Andropulos, and at the moment we’re anchored over a plane that crashed into the sea just about the time we were receiving your SOS.’

      ‘A plane? Crashed? Good God! What—what kind of plane?’

      ‘We have no idea. It was so wreathed in smoke that it was impossible to distinguish any important features.’

      ‘But surely—well, don’t you think it was a big plane?’

      ‘It may have been.’

      ‘But it could have been a big jet. Maybe hundreds of passengers.’ If Andropulos knew it wasn’t a jet carrying hundreds of passengers, his face wasn’t saying so.

      ‘It’s always possible.’ Talbot saw no point in telling Andropulos that it was almost certainly a bomber and equally certainly not carrying hundreds of passengers.

      ‘You—you mean to tell me that you left the area to come to our aid?’

      ‘A reasonable enough decision, I think. We were pretty certain that there were people alive aboard the Delos and we were also pretty certain that there was no one alive aboard that plane.’

      ‘There could have been survivors aboard that plane. I mean, you weren’t there to see.’

      ‘Mr Andropulos.’ Talbot allowed a certain coldness to creep into his voice. ‘We are, I hope, neither callous nor stupid. Before leaving, we lowered one of our motorboats to circle the area. There were no survivors.’

      ‘Oh dear,’ Irene Charial said, ‘Isn’t it awful? All those people dead and there we were, busy doing nothing except feeling sorry for ourselves. I’m not being inquisitive, Captain, and I know it’s none of my business, but why do you remain anchored here? I mean, there can’t possibly be any hope now that some survivors СКАЧАТЬ