The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley

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      Torloni was being watched, but nothing seemed to be happening; his men were still in Rapallo watching Sanford and being watched themselves; the trucks had been arranged for and the drivers were ready; the timber was prepared and the tools had been bought; she had been offered a German caravan but she had heard of an English caravan for sale in Milan and thought it would be better – would I give her some money to buy it as she had none.

      It all seemed to be working out satisfactorily.

      The three of us from Sanford spent our time sightseeing, much to the disgust of Torloni’s spies. I spent a lot of time in the Yacht Club and it was soon noised about that I intended to settle in the Mediterranean and was looking for a suitable boatyard to buy.

      On our fifth day in Rapallo the morning letter instructed me to go to the boatyard of Silvio Palmerini and to ask for a quotation for the slipping and painting of Sanford. ‘The price will be right,’ wrote the Contessa. ‘Silvio is one of my – our – friends.’

      Palmerini’s yard was some way out of Rapallo. Palmerini was a gnarled man of about sixty who ruled his yard and his three sons with soft words and a will of iron. I said, ‘You understand, Signor Palmerini, that I am a boat-builder, too. I would like to do the job myself in your yard.’

      He nodded. It was only natural that a man must look after his own boat if he could; besides, it would be cheaper.

      ‘And I would want it under cover,’ I said. ‘I fastened the keel in an experimental way and I may want to take it off to see if it is satisfactory.’

      He nodded again. Experimental ways were risky and a man should stick to the old traditional ways of doing things. It would be foolish, indeed, if milord’s keel dropped off in the middle of the Mediterranean.

      I agreed that I should look a fool, and said, ‘My friends and I are capable of doing the work and we shall not need extra labour. All that is required is a place where we can work undisturbed.’

      He nodded a third time. He had a large shed we could use and which could be locked. No one would disturb us, not even himself – certainly no one outside his family – he would see to that. And was milord the rich Englishman who wanted to buy a boatyard? If so, then perhaps the milord would consider the boatyard Palmerini, the paragon of the Western Mediterranean.

      That brought me up with a jerk. Another piece of polite blackmail was under way and I could see that I would have to buy the yard, probably at an exorbitant price – the price of silence.

      I said diplomatically, ‘Yes, I am thinking of buying a yard, but the wise man explores every avenue.’ Dammit, I was falling into his way of speech. ‘I have been to Spain and France; now I am in Italy and after Italy I am going to Greece. I must look at everything.’

      He nodded vigorously, his crab-apple head bobbing up and down. Yes, the milord was indeed wise to look at everything, but in spite of that he was sure that the milord would unfailingly return to the boatyard Palmerini because it was certainly the best in the whole Mediterranean.

      Pah, what did the Greeks know of fine building? All they knew were their clumsy caiques. The price would be reasonable for milord since it appeared that they had mutual friends, and such a price could be spread over a period provided the proper guarantees could be given.

      From this I understood the old rascal to say that he would wait until the whole job was completed and I had fluid capital, if I could prove that I would keep my word.

      I went back to Sanford feeling satisfied that this part of the programme was going well. Even if I had to buy Palmerini’s yard, it would not be a bad thing and any lengthening of the price could be written off as expedition expenses.

      On the ninth day of our stay in Rapallo the usual morning letter announced that all was now ready and we could start at any time. However, it was felt that, since the next day was Sunday, it would be more fitting to begin the expedition inland on Monday. That gave an elevating tone to the whole thing, I thought; another crazy aspect of a crazy adventure.

      The Contessa wrote: ‘Torloni’s men will be discreetly taken care of, and will not connect their inability to find you with any trickery on your part. They will have no suspicions. Leave your boat in the care of Luigi and meet me at nine in the morning at the Three Fishes.’

      I put a match to the letter and called Luigi below. ‘They say you are an honest man, Luigi; would you take a bribe?’

      He was properly horrified. ‘Oh no, signor.’

      ‘You know this boat is being watched?’

      ‘Yes, signor. They are enemies of you and Madame.’

      ‘Do you know what Madame and I are doing?’

      He shook his head. ‘No, signor. I came because Madame said you needed my help. I did not ask any questions,’ he said with dignity.

      I tapped on the table. ‘My friends and I are going away for a few days soon, leaving the boat in your charge. What will you do if the men who are watching want to bribe you to let them search the boat?’

      He drew himself up. ‘I would slap the money out of their hands, signor.’

      ‘No, you won’t,’ I said. ‘You will say it is not enough and you will ask them for more money. When you get it, you will let them search the boat.’

      He looked at me uncomprehendingly. I said slowly, ‘I don’t mind if they search – there is nothing to be found. There is no reason why you should not make some money out of Madame’s enemies.’

      He laughed suddenly and slapped his thigh. ‘That is good, signor; that is very good. You want them to search.’

      ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But don’t make it too easy for them or they will be suspicious.’

      I wanted, as a last resort, to try to fool Metcalfe as I had fooled him in Barcelona, or rather, as I had hoped to fool him before Coertze put his foot in it. I wrote a letter to the Contessa telling her what I was doing, and gave it to Luigi to pass on.

      ‘How long have you known Madame?’ I asked curiously.

      ‘Since the war, signor, when she was a little girl.’

      ‘You would do anything for her, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘Why not?’ he asked in surprise. ‘She has done more for me that I can ever repay. She paid for the doctors after the war when they straightened my leg. It is not her fault they could not get it properly straight – but I would have been a cripple, otherwise.’

      This was a new light on Francesca. ‘Thank you, Luigi,’ I said. ‘Give the letter to Madame when you see her.’

      I told Coertze and Walker what was happening. There was nothing else to do now but wait for Monday morning.

       FIVE: THE TUNNEL

      On Monday morning I again set the stage, leaving papers where they СКАЧАТЬ