SOME DISTANCE AWAY FROM THE BIG MOTOR YACHT ONE could hear a violent splashing and a great deal of swearing in French. And even though the lights on the pier were not working, there was enough light for both the stranded Martha and the restaurant guests in the harbor to see when three men with a scarf, a hat with a veil and two smiling inflated seahorses splashed back to the quay. The white newly ironed uniforms were wet, the shoes were full of seaweed and the captain’s new uniform cap had floated away.
“MERDE!” echoed out over the water when the crew realized that the boat had left the pier and was on its way out of the harbor.
“Merde!” swore the captain when he realized he had been conned and, besides, had also been photographed when he had clung on to one of the seahorses.
“Merde,” hissed the engineer when he heard the engines get up into high rev and saw the yacht head out to sea. Swearing, he tried to free himself of the scarf around one pant leg and the old-fashioned ladies’ hose that had wrapped around his neck. Together with the others, and soaking wet and furious, he climbed up onto land just below one of the restaurants.
When the men stood there with a hat with a veil and hose on their uniforms, Martha came walking in from the pier. In the light of the restaurant she caught sight of them, stopped and dipped in among the shadows. She waited until they had turned away and then she slipped along the wall and managed to get past them. She reached the street and quickly waved down a taxi.
“Cannes!” she said and then settled comfortably in the back seat. Admittedly, she wasn’t on board the boat, but this would work just as well. Even better, when she thought about it. Now she could travel by road to Cannes where Oleg and his friends awaited them at the restaurant. But first she would stop off at one of those department stores which were open in the evenings. She must make a photocopy of the certificate of ownership and buy a new handbag and a bit of this and that necessary for the negotiations.
OUT ON THE WATER, THE LUXURY MOTOR YACHT AURORA 4 WAS leisurely making its way out of the harbor with a very happy Nils at the helm. He, Anna-Greta and Christina stood up on the bridge and looked out through the windows in fascination while the lighthouse at the end of the pier slowly disappeared. And Brains was totally absorbed with all the technical apparatuses on board. He went from one to the other, between the GPS, computers and weird joysticks, his entire face was one big smile, and he thought that life was exciting. Of course, his beloved Martha could be a bit trying at times, but nobody could deny that things happened when she got going. And most of the time they were fun things.
“Martha, come and have a look at this,” he called out, with his gaze on the modern GPS. When he didn’t hear any answer, he went out on deck to fetch her, but his dear fiancée was nowhere to be seen. Somewhat confounded, he scratched his neck. When had he last seen her? Yes, that was it. She had just whooshed off down the waterslide at one hell of a speed and landed in the water where she had made those seagull noises. But then what? She was meant to quickly get back on board again. He felt his panic growing, and he rushed to the railings to see if she was still down there in the dock. But the sea was like a black mirror and apart from seaweed and a glove floating on the surface, nothing could be seen. He wet his lips and felt a sinking feeling in his tummy. Martha hadn’t got back on board. Whatever could have happened? He rushed in to the bridge.
“Stop the engines, we’ve forgotten Martha!” he shouted out.
“What did you say?” asked Nils, who had his hands full trying to maneuver the beast he was now in command of. The motor yacht Aurora 4 was by no means as simple to steer as he had first thought, and on the bridge they had installed a new computer system that he was not familiar with. Besides, he was not used to a joystick and all the other controls.
“Martha, we must fetch Martha,” Brains shouted.
Nils fumbled with the joystick and looked anxiously out through the bridge windows. A hell of a lot of boats lay at anchor ahead, and they were in the way. At that moment, the door burst open and a breathless Rake came in. He was sweating and his hair stuck out at all angles.
“Er, Nils, this boat, it’s . . .” said Rake, twisting his bandanna with his fingers. “I mean—in the engine room, like—damned complicated. Only buttons and electronics. The entire machine room looks like a disco.”
Nils, who had just managed to avoid a collision with a little sailing yacht, stared at Rake.
“But Dad, what the hell?! You told me that you can manage any boat at all and that you had kept up with developments, oh yes.”
“Well, yes. I have. But this boat, you know . . .” answered Rake, sounding unusually pathetic. “This is a newly built motor yacht. And engines perhaps aren’t my best subject. I was better as a waiter.”
“But you have boasted that you know your way around any engine room whatsoever!”
“You’d better learn quick. We must go back and pick up Martha!” Brains butted in.
At that moment, Nils made a very quick decision. They were out in the mooring field and would soon be in the middle of the channel among lots of big boats. There was only one thing to do.
“Drop the anchor! NOW!”
“But, no, I don’t think—” said Rake.
“But we can’t lose Martha, you must understand that,” yelled Brains, almost hysterical.
“Now listen, she is not a person who allows herself to be lost,” Rake countered. “And besides, this anchor winch is a bit different to what I am used to. It would probably be best if we kept going.”
“Oh, fucking hell!” hissed Nils and suddenly he looked rather exhausted.
WHILE MARTHA SAT IN THE TAXI ON THE WAY TO CANNES, THE captain, the first mate and the engineer remained on the quay and tried to pull themselves together as best they could. Tired and furious, they wrung out their clothes before putting them back on again.
“We swam in the wrong direction!” the captain groaned, pulling out his cell to phone the police. “Those seniors stole the boat; I can’t believe this has happened. Damn them!” He dialed the number on his cell but it was totally dead, had a wet candy wrapper in the case and was very damp.
“How the hell can we explain this?” the first mate moaned. “We’ve been conned by a gang of pensioners.”
“Is this yours?” a woman came up and asked. She held out a merrily smiling seahorse and inclined her head respectfully to the captain.
“Merde!” could be heard yet again, possibly even louder than before. He grabbed the smiling inflatable seahorse and threw it out into the water with all his force. At least that was what he tried to do. But unfortunately it didn’t reach all the way, but caught on a rusty steel wire and was punctured. Accompanied by a hissing sound, the smile slowly turned into a grimace while the seahorse deflated and ended up in a heap on the quay. The captain groaned, and signaled to the others that it was best to leave quickly. But they were too late; people were standing in the way. One of the restaurant’s owners rushed forward with towels and tried to dry them off as best he could while several guests took out their cells and started to take photos. The captain wanted to phone the police, and he asked if he could borrow a cell to phone them, but everyone had only seen a bunch of seniors go on board. Besides, both the captain and the other two were definitely a bit tipsy, so the guests just smiled, laughed and took some more photos while Aurora 4 sailed out of the harbor.
“Is this yours?” a young blonde asked, holding up a sodden captain’s cap.
“Of course it’s mine,” said the captain and he put it on, only to snatch it off again even quicker. A little shrimp and an old condom had gotten caught in the lining. The captain swore again, cleaned the trash out of his cap and then put it back on.
“They stole the yacht, phone the police!” he shouted out, pointing out to sea.
“I know,” said the restaurant owner and laughed, while the guests waved, smiled and took photographs. And every time the captain got angry and flapped his arms frantically, they all waved back merrily.
“It’s going to collide with other boats,” the captain howled as he almost lost his footing. And he had hardly said those words before a heavy scraping sound could be heard followed by a dreadful crash when the motor yacht met with something in the dark. Then he hid his head in his hands and loudly yelled out again:
“MERDE, MERDE, MERDE!”