WE AGONIZED over the near-loss of the hull (and of me) for a day or two, but in the end could only put it down as an accident. Mark reckoned that one supporting beam had fallen, setting up a slight rocking motion that dislodged others. We had no evidence whatever that it had been deliberately done and had to accept the timely arrival of Donal O’Donnell as simply fortuitous.
Things continued at the yard in a perfectly normal way. Work progressed; Denny O’Donnell remained surly but useful. He was the yard’s electrician and did his work well. Donal remained friendly, if a bit removed. We fitted the engine into the hull before the decks went on, for easier access. Denny began work on the installation of the wiring harness, which Mark had designed. We were tense for a while, half expecting another “accident,” but nothing happened, and after a while we relaxed. I did, at least. Mark seemed to be increasingly worried about something. I waited for him to tell me about it, and when he didn’t, I finally asked.
“Thrasher told you he would be in touch, is that right?”
“It was the last thing he said to me in London.”
“Well, I haven’t heard from him, and our next payment to the yard is due on December fifteenth, less than a week to go. I’m going to have to come up with more than thirty thousand pounds.”
“He didn’t give you all the money at once?”
Mark shook his head. “No, it was to come in installments.”
“Why don’t you call him, then?”
Mark looked grim. “I tried. The London number he gave me has been disconnected. I called his building firm’s offices, but was met with a blank wall. They wouldn’t even take a message.”
“Well, I’ve got a couple of thousand pounds in the bank, here, you’re welcome to that if you need it.”
“Thanks, Willie, but I’m going to have to give Finbar a much bigger check than that.”
“Won’t Finbar wait a bit?”
“I can’t ask him to do that. Finbar borrows to buy materials and pay for labor. If he doesn’t get paid, the bank will attach the hull and sell it, since the yard has title to it until the contract price is paid. Then, since he’s committed his yard to this project until the spring, he’ll have no other work and will have to lay off his crew. He could even lose the boatyard to the bank.”
“I may know another way to get in touch with Derek,” I said. I went into Finbar’s office, dug the card from my wallet and placed the call. It was some minutes before she came on the line. “Jane?”
“Will? How nice to hear from you! Are you coming to Paris?”
“Not right away. How’s the world of international banking?”
“Not bad, but the social life is killing me.”
“Not a bad way to go.”
“And I love every minute of it.”
“Listen, Jane, do you know where Derek is? Can you get in touch with him?”
There was a silence for a moment. “What’s the problem?”
I explained.
“I’m sorry, Will, but I haven’t seen Derek since London. I’ve talked with him once, briefly, but since the bomb in Berkeley Square he’s been keeping a very low profile. There were rumors that they were after him, personally.”
“I see. Well, if he should contact you, would you ask him to get in touch with Mark? It’s very important.”
“Of course, but it’s unlikely that I’ll hear from him. How are things in Ireland?”
“Damp. As usual. Paris?”
“Very nice, lately. Say, what are you doing New Year’s Eve?”
“No plans, yet. My folks are coming to visit my grandfather for Christmas, but they leave before New Year’s.”
“Why don’t you come to Paris?”
“Paris for New Year’s?” Mark nodded and mouthed the word, ‘go.’ Connie had already asked me to a party, and I had accepted, but I didn’t hesitate. “That sounds terrific.”
“Wonderful! How long can you stay?”
“Not more than a couple of days. Things are going hot and heavy at the boatyard. Will you book me a hotel room?”
“Nonsense, you’ll stay with me. I’ve got a lovely flat.” She gave me the address. “Bring your dinner jacket. We get terribly elegant in Paris.”
“Okay.” I didn’t have a dinner jacket, but I had my new American Express card. We chatted for a moment longer, then hung up. I shook my head. “She doesn’t know how to reach him. But if she hears from him, she’ll ask him to call.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway. Not to worry, we’ve got a few days yet.” We headed back to the waiting boat, but he still looked worried.
On Saturday afternoon I went to see Connie and found Sister Mary Margaret there again. I had chatted with her briefly several times, now, and found her intelligent and, as a nun, disconcertingly attractive. I would catch myself trying to figure out what sort of body was hidden beneath the habit, and I think she suspected my thoughts once, because she blushed and left shortly thereafter.
“How goes it with the boat, Will?” Connie asked, when she had got me a drink.
“Very well, indeed, with the boat, but Mark hasn’t heard from the sponsor for a while, and there’s a payment coming due.”
“Where is your Mr. Thrasher these days?” Sister Mary Margaret asked. “The papers say he’s dropped out of sight.”
I was startled, then remembered that Connie had told her about Thrasher. “I’ve no idea, and, apparently, neither does anybody else since the bombing in London.”
“There’s been another one,” Connie said, handing me a newspaper. A restaurant in Chelsea had been ripped apart and two people killed.
“I don’t understand those creeps,” I said heatedly. “What do they have to gain by killing innocent Londoners in a restaurant?”
The nun looked at me sharply. “What makes you so sure they’re innocent?”
“You mean they might have been after somebody in particular?”
“No, but they were English.”
“And what does that make them guilty of?”
“They allow themselves a government that persecutes people in the North. When a people are fighting for their freedom as Catholics in Ulster are, the war has to be taken to the home of the oppressor. When England understands that the war will be taken to English cities and not just to Belfast and Derry, maybe they’ll consider that they’ve been in Ireland long enough.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from a nun. “That’s the sort of thinking that’s behind things like the attack on the Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics.”
“If you like.” She was reddening, now.
“Oh, Will,” Connie broke in, “you mustn’t get Maeve started on the British in the North.”
The nun rose. “I’ve got to get moving, so you needn’t worry about a lecture.”
Connie walked her to the door. Shortly, I heard the convent van drive away. “Jesus, Connie, does she really believe all that stuff?”
“She’s stifled at the convent, Will. She has no one to talk with about this sort of thing, so when she does the marketing she stops by and chats with me, lets off some steam.”
“But does she really believe that terrorism is okay?”
Connie wheeled on me. “Now don’t you get started on something and somebody you don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? It sounded to me as though she was clearly taking a stand in favor of the murder of innocent civilians to achieve a political end.”
“Isn’t that what happens in any war? It’s what the Germans and the British did to each other, murdered each other’s civilians.”
“It’s not quite the same thing.”
“Well, the civilians were just as dead.” She held up a hand to stop me from speaking further. “Now listen, I’m not going to argue politics with you, Will Lee. If you want a pleasant evening around here, just you stop it right now.”
I knew what she meant by a pleasant evening, and I changed the subject very quickly. Later, she turned to me in the dark. “Say, I’ve got a lovely new dress for New Year’s; you’ll love it—lots of cleavage.”
I winced. “Jesus, Connie, I forgot. You know my folks are coming at Christmastime—well, they’re going on to Paris from here and have asked me to come with them. They called today. Do you mind?” I had not even thought about the lie; it just came rolling out.
“Oh. Well, sure, you’d better go, then.”
The disappointment in her voice was clear. If I hadn’t been such a shit I’d have felt like one.