It was still dark on Saturday morning when the Major drove Catherine and Fiona, along with an excited Millie, down to the marina. Peter had declined the invitation, saying small boats and he did not get on, so Selina felt she had to stay behind to entertain him. Dominic had invited Bobby instead, when he found the boy knew something about boats, and as Catherine and Fiona tugged their overnight bags and the lavish lunch Margaret had prepared from the car he came panting up, red-faced with effort, and carrying a box containing half a dozen wine bottles.
'I thought I'd be late,' he gasped.
Another car drew up behind them, and Lidia got out, turned to kiss her husband, and joined them as they walked down the slope towards the Thorn boat.
Fiona was yawning, and Dominic grinned.
'Sorry I had to get you up so early, but it'll take at least eight hours, so if you want a bathe this afternoon we need to start soon. Go and lie down in the cabin if you want to sleep. There's plenty of room.'
Fiona shook her head.
'No, thanks, I'll be better in the open. The breeze will wake me up. I'm just not used to getting up this early.'
The boat was ready and they motored carefully out of the marina and through the harbour.
'There's a steady breeze and the forecast's good, so we can set sail once we're round the headland. The engine is only used for tricky manoeuvring.'
It was an idyllic morning. As they sailed east along the coast the lights of the towns and villages gradually went out as the day brightened, and when they turned northwards past the end of the last low straggle of cliffs, the sun was rising. First the streaks of clouds grew pink, deepening in colour. Catherine thought it was even better than the glorious sunsets she enjoyed, and vowed to get up earlier sometimes in order to enjoy the sunrise. Then the sun peered over the horizon, and Dominic declared it was time for breakfast.
'I'll make the coffee, I'm used to boats,' Lidia offered, and busied herself in the tiny galley. Catherine and Fiona investigated the hamper Dominic had brought. There were croissants, wrapped in foil and still warm, Danish pastries and pain au chocolat.
'We'll never eat all this!' Catherine said, and Dominic grinned.
'What do you bet?'
'I'm not betting,' Bobby, who was manning the tiller, said. 'I didn't have time for a first breakfast.'
Catherine felt it had been a long time since she had been so happy. The boat was scudding along in a warm breeze, the coffee was hot and strong, and somehow, though she was managing to nibble her way through far more pastries than she felt was wise, it didn't seem to matter. Dominic had suggested they waited until they reached the hotel, then have Margaret's picnic lunch on the beach. She doubted she would have room for all the goodies her mother had prepared even then.
Catherine tried to listen to Dominic as he explained about the uninhabited smudges of islands visible on the horizon. She didn't want to know about rare birds and wild goats and rabbits on the Desertas. She was eager to reach Porto Santo.
When they eventually came within sight of the long, sandy shore and flat appearance of the island, though, so totally different from Madeira's rocky, mountainous terrain, she began to ask questions.
'That's the main town we can see, Vila Baleira, no more than a village, really, and the harbour is further along, at the end of the bay,' Dominic explained. 'It's so flat on this side it had an airport long before Madeira did. In those days people flew here and then had to endure several hours by sea to get to Funchal. Before that they either came all the way by boat, or there were flying boats. Many of these actually stopped right by Reid's, and visitors were transferred directly to the hotel. There weren't many other places to stay then.'
'And most of the visitors were wealthy,' Catherine said. 'No package tours.'
'We depend on tourists for much of our income now,' Lidia said. 'We don't export sugar, or much else.'
'There's the wicker, and the embroidery.'
'Yes, but those are expensive, especially the embroidery. Only rich people can afford it, it's hand-made and takes so long to produce. The hotels and bars and restaurants earn much from less wealthy tourists.'
As they approached Porto Santo, much flatter than Madeira with only one highish hill, Catherine saw they were heading for a narrow passage between a small islet and the main coast. She gulped.
'Are you going through there?' she exclaimed, looking in horror at the sight ahead of them. She turned away from admiring the magnificent landscape visible only from the sea, and apprehensively eyed the huge cliffs looming to either side of the narrow passage.
'It's quite safe under power,' Dominic said reassuringly, but Catherine, trying to banish her nervousness at the sight of the churning waves, shuddered. 'The ferries go through unless the weather's really bad.' Dominic grinned. 'No, don't be afraid. It's perfectly safe but I'll go round it and go into port on the engine.'
Catherine breathed a sigh of relief.
'Thanks for the warning. Next time I'll avoid the ferry and go by air.'
Lidia laughed. 'They truly aren't very big, and you can trust Dominic.'
'What do we do when we arrive?' Fiona tried to divert her mother's attention. 'Have you ever been here before?'
'No, never. My father always said it wasn't worth it, it was a long way and there was so little to see.'
'We'll take a taxi to the hotel, and after we've checked in and eaten Lidia and I can go to the golf club. We'll be back around six, I expect.'
They drove along the narrow streets. Dominic pointed out the house in which Christopher Columbus had spent his early married life, after his marriage to the daughter of the island's Governor.
'See that little square, there's a mosaic of the Santa Maria which they did to commemorate 1992,' Dominic said, pointing, but Catherine had no eyes for irrelevancies, she was too busy looking ahead to where Porto Santo's only high ground rose before them.
*
When he left Catherine at the marina Major Fraser wondered if he might go to Reid's before going back home, but a glance at his watch made him sigh with frustration. No way could he turn up there hours before most of the guests would be at breakfast. He'd have to come back later in the morning, but then he might miss catching Peter Simkins. As he drove back up the hill he made his plans. Selina's house was further up the hill than his, and he could keep watch to make sure she did not drive down into Funchal too early. If it seemed she would be remaining at home, he could drive down himself. Surely she wouldn't be spending every day with Peter? He'd missed Peter already more than once by leaving his visit until later in the mornings, and had fruitless journeys because the man was out. Selina was taking her duty of entertaining her father-in-law seriously, making trips to tour the island.
From the terrace, as he ate breakfast, he could see the road. He fretted with impatience, and upset his coffee cup when he leapt up, thinking he saw Selina's car. Then he frowned and sank back into his chair, mopping the spill of coffee with his napkin. There were too many cars the same make and colour as Selina's. To be sure of hers he would need to be closer to the wall bordering the road.
Margaret, who had gone into the kitchen for some toast, frowned when she saw the spilt coffee.
'Hamish, let me take that napkin and put it to soak, or the coffee will stain.'
'I'm sorry, my dear. I'm restless. It's having got up so early, I suppose. I think I'll go and root out some of that lemon grass near the gate. It's spreading too much, it will smother the lilies.'
Ignoring her exclamation of surprise he went down the steps towards the gate, and began to pull distractedly at the offending plant. To do so he needed to bend down, and straighten up to see over the wall whenever he heard a car going past. Every time a church clock struck, he checked his watch. It must be later than that!
He could bear it no longer, and marched back to the house. Margaret, he was pleased to see, was at her painting. Good, she would be too preoccupied to question him.
'I'm just going into town,' he muttered as he went past her, dropping his hand on her shoulder. 'Won't be long.'
He'd gone through to the garage before she could reply. He'd left the garage door ajar when he came back earlier, and was soon backing out onto the road. It was still early, and the traffic in the centre of the town was heavy. The road works slowed everyone up, and a monster cruise liner was in port. It seemed as though dozens of tour coaches were processing from the dockside, and most of them were blocking his way, but eventually he gained the Estrada Monumental and after fretting because every light seemed to be red, turned with relief into Reid's car park.
The receptionist on duty was one he had spoken to on several occasions, and she smiled at him.
'Mr Simkins is here today,' she said. 'I believe he is having breakfast on the lower terrace. Would you like to go down? I think you know your way.'
The Major nodded, and was soon stepping down onto the lower terrace. His gaze was drawn immediately to a man sitting on his own at a small table nearby. He was clearly an American, wearing shorts and a colourful shirt. His hair was sparse and almost white, and he was deeply tanned, but there could be no mistake. It was the Major's old friend. He didn't know whether to be pleased at having finally run his quarry to earth, or trepidation at what he had come to ask.
*
Dominic decided to hire a car for the drive to the golf course. Lidia exclaimed in admiration as they drove past the South course with its lakes and beautiful landscaping.
'I've never been here,' she sighed. 'How I'd love to play on this course. Just the surroundings would make it memorable.'
'The North course is sited on the tops of cliffs,' Dominic said. 'It would be even more tricky when the wind was strong.'
The golf shop was busy and they had to wait for a while until someone could speak with them. He turned out to be a temporary assistant.
'I'm afraid the Manager is away, and his deputy is recovering from a heart attack, and is at his house.'
Dominic cursed inwardly. He should have made better preparations, and then he could have avoided an unnecessary visit.
'You're the second person asking this morning,' the man added. 'I telephoned, and sent him up to the house. I was told it would be all right.'
Livermore, Dominic thought. He'd be damned if he let that arrogant bastard steal a march on him.
'Would it be possible for us to go and see him as well?'
'I'll phone. He's due to come back to work next week, so maybe he'll see you too.'
Ten minutes later Dominic and Lidia were already climbing out of the town, but soon turned off the main road and wound their way up the side of a steep hill. Below to the left they could see the long airport runway which stretched almost the entire width of the island, and the golf course alongside it.
They were heading towards the only high ground on the island. Their helpful friend had given them a map and clear instructions, and soon they were driving along a narrow, sandy track leading yet further up the hillside. The road wound round and now Lidia could see below her a straggling village, Camacha. It was quite unlike the village of the same name on the larger island, where the traditional basket weaving had become a tourist attraction. This Camacha was a rural community, its farms spreading out towards the inhospitable north coast where the tops of the rugged cliffs were clearly visible. Cattle grazed, a sight rarely seen in the mountainous terrain of Madeira, but on her right the peaks of this relatively tiny range of hills reared up from the green landscape.
'It's the only house along this track, he said.' The rough, steep path was hardly wide enough to take a car.
'Do we have to walk?'
'It isn't far, if his map is accurate, just beyond that rocky outcrop. There's the deserted building he mentioned, a farm or barn, I'm not sure which, in a hollow.'
They rounded the bend and the way suddenly became steeper and narrower, almost a defile. Bare rocky walls reared up to either side, and the sunshine was abruptly cut off. Lidia shivered, and was very glad not to be here alone. It was a spooky sort of place, cold, dark and isolated.
A few yards past the bend the track ended and a shallow grassy bowl opened out before them. Totally different, it looked idyllic. Facing them across this hollow the hill rose steeply, and in its shelter amidst a riot of flowering shrubs nestled a long, low house, with a door in the centre and several small windows and another door to one side. In front of the doorway was a roughly paved area, probably the remains of a farmyard, and set out on it was a long wooden table with several garden chairs around it, laden with bottles and bowls of food.
Dominic recognised Livermore, in jeans and a navy t-shirt, and the girl who had been with him at his mother's party, dressed in the briefest of shorts and a tight, cropped top. Another couple of girls, also in shorts and abbreviated t-shirts, lolled on the chairs, and a young man in old-fashioned yachting trousers and a striped blazer lounged on the grass at their feet.
The man they had come to see, recognisable by his age and a casual but expensive sweater over neatly pressed chinos, was looking somewhat harassed, and a middle-aged woman in a flowery dress, frowning somewhat grimly, was emerging from the front door carrying a tray of glasses.
Dominic and Lidia got slowly out of their car and Dominic led the way to the older man. He was about to introduce himself when Livermore interrupted.
'You're too late, Thorn,' he said, standing up and walking towards them. 'I've beaten you to it, got it all sewn up. So be a good little fellow and get back in your car and leave. You and your new girlfriend are not welcome here.'
'I say – ' the Madeiran began, as his wife put down the tray and clasped a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from getting to his feet.
Livermore paid them no attention. He strolled to put himself in front of the older couple and a yard or so in front of Dominic.
'Would you like to see the sort of superior goods I'm selling to the shop here?' he asked, and turned to pick up a heavy driver that had been lying on the table. 'They're far better than anything you have to offer.'
He began to swing the club gently.
'Let me show you what it can do, Thorn,' he said, and the girls behind him giggled.
'Go on Keithy, get rid of the pompous fool!' It was the girl from the party.
Livermore smiled, turned to look at her, and suddenly gave a vicious swing of the club. Lidia gasped and tried to jump out of the way, falling heavily as she did so. Dominic, hampered by her falling body, flung up his left arm to ward off the blow, and heard the bones snap. The older woman screamed, the girls gasped and began to giggle, and the man in the blazer got to his feet.
'Oh dear, how clumsy of the silly fellow to get in your way, Livermore.'
The older man turned to his wife, who was looking frightened.
'Ring for an ambulance.'
'No, it'll be faster if Marco drives him down to the doctor.'
Dominic, dizzy from the pain in his arm, was trying to help Lidia, who was moaning and clutching her head. He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet by the man in the blazer.
'I'll go with him and Marco. Livermore, take the girls in our car. Can we leave the fellow's girlfriend here? I don't think she's hurt much, but your man can take her to the doc later if she needs it. If not, she can take their own car away.'
Marco, carrying a pruning knife, clearly a gardener, soon appeared, heard his instructions, then went off to fetch an elderly Mercedes. Livermore and the girls piled into what Dominic, still dazed, assumed was a hire car, and set off down the track. Loud laughter floated back, then a radio was turned to full volume.
'Don't worry,' the woman of the house said, recovering some poise. 'We'll take care of your friend, and when the doctor has seen to you Marco will bring you back and take you both wherever you wish to go.'
There was nothing he could do. Dominic was feeling decidedly groggy. His spectacles had been knocked off and somehow trampled, and his vision was blurred. He managed to hold his arm against his chest and cushion it as he was helped into the Mercedes. He'd feel better once he had the arm strapped and a couple of painkillers.
*
The Major stepped across the terrace and almost collapsed into the chair opposite Peter's. His old friend looked puzzled for a moment, then gave a roar of delight which had the other breakfasting guests look either startled or offended.
'You old devil! Hamish Fraser, of all people. How on earth do you come to be here? Are you on vacation too?'
The Major looked about him apologetically. He hated creating a fuss, making what he thought a spectacle of himself.
'I live here. We live here,' he corrected himself. 'Near your son Bernie and his wife. When they said your name I thought it could be you.'
'Well, it's great to see you again, Hamish! We had some good old fun together, that time in England, didn't we?' He laughed loudly, and the Major looked round nervously and made shushing motions with his hands. 'There were some real sports in London then, real friendly to us poor lonely army fellows.'
'Er yes, Pete. That was, well, what I mainly wanted to see you about.'
Peter called for more coffee and the Major drank thirstily. He'd have preferred whisky, but he could hardly ask for that before ten in the morning. It gave him time to think. He nerved himself to speak. It had taken days of indecision to bring him to this point. He despised himself. Normally he knew exactly what he wanted and had no hesitation in carrying out what had to be done. No prevarication had been one of his guiding principles. But there had never before been this sort of situation.
'Er, Peter,' he began again, and took another gulp of coffee. He wished yet again it had been something stronger.
'Why, surely you haven't kept in touch with any of those lovely ladies who were so friendly to us in the old days? You old devil! I wouldn't have thought it of you, you with a wife as well.'
The Major took out a large handkerchief and wiped his brow.
'Peter! I – er – I need to ask you a favour!'
'Anything at all, buddy. What can I do?'
'I'd be grateful if you didn't talk about, that is, mention, anything to do with what we – I – used to do!' the Major floundered.
Peter Simkins looked puzzled, then a huge grin split his face. 'Been giving you a bad time, hey?' he asked, laughing. 'I wouldn't have thought your charming wife would be distrustful after all these years.' He smiled, reminiscently. 'Do you remember that barmaid who took a shine to you? What was her name? Jackie? Wow! What a gal! She really was something!'
The Major shifted uncomfortably in his chair and half rose, then sank back. He deserved this. If only he could have kept out of Peter's way while he was on the island, but living so close to Bernie that was impossible unless he removed himself, and what convincing excuse could he give for that?
'Er, Jackie, you say? I can't recall anyone of that name.'
'Oh, you can't have forgotten her. She had the biggest pair of – '
The Major cut in abruptly.
'Oh, her? Yes, I think I can recall her. But I forgot her name. Didn't she spend time with that Californian? Higher up the ladder than either of us.'
'Pity she's not here. But you and your wife – Margaret, isn't it? – must come and have a meal with me here.'
'You must come to us, but remember, Pete, old chap, please not a word about you know what.'
'I'll keep mum. But you must tell me if you ever saw her again, after I went back home. And whether you know what became of her friend, name of Adele. Great girl, Adele. Thought something might have come of that if we hadn't been moved to France. When I got back to London she'd vanished, no trace.'
'I haven't the least idea what happened to Adele, can't even remember what she looked like. I never saw Jackie again, apart from once, many years later, when I was on leave. Bumped into her at Waterloo Station. Wouldn't have recognised her, but she knew me. I don't suppose I'd changed much,' he added, relaxing and smoothing down his moustache. 'But I don't want Margaret hurt, so I'd be grateful, old man, if you keep quiet about that sort of thing. We're all going to be at this Royal British Legion dinner. You'll meet my wife there. Please don't mention Jackie.'
'Secrets, eh? Of course I won't tell anyone about the fun and games we had in dear ole London town. I don't let my Bernie know what his old dad got up to when he was off the leash. He thinks I'm a staid old man.' He grinned. 'Little does he know! Sure, you can trust me. Hey, here's my lovely daughter, come to show me more of the island.'
The Major shot to his feet and grinned at Selina. He felt so foolish, hadn't meant to be caught here, but she had to know he and Peter were old buddies.
'I was just going. Is Bernie back yet?'
Selina frowned. 'Hello, Major. Glad to see you've made contact with Peter. No, and I haven't a clue when Bernie deigns to come back. He knows you're here, Peter, I've phoned and sent him half a dozen texts.'
Peter shrugged. 'I expect he's busy sorting out new contracts. Can't blame a fellow for that. And meantime, I'm enjoying your company, my dear.'
'I must be going,' the Major said. 'I'll be in touch.'
*
Lidia was fretting. She had a severe headache, but wondered how long it would be before Dominic was coming back. Was he badly injured? Her involuntary hostess had been very kind, making her rest in the house and giving her painkillers, but she couldn't help feeling a nuisance. The sooner they could leave and go back to the hotel the better. She wondered how Dominic would manage to sail the yacht back to Funchal, if he were injured. She and Bobby both had some experience, but it was a bigger boat than she had ever sailed on her own. Perhaps they could motor across. But the engine wasn't meant for that sort of work.
She was, at her hostess's insistence, lying on a sofa in the living room, with the shutters closed but a cool breeze coming through the open windows. She heard the sound of a car and went out onto the porch. It must be Dominic. It was Marco in the big elderly Mercedes, but no Dominic got out of the car. Had he been kept at a hospital? Was he hurt more than it had seemed? She had been too shocked and dazed herself at the sudden attack to really notice what had happened, but it must have been more serious than her own bump on the head if he had to go to hospital.
Marco came across to the house, and shook his head at the man who still sat by the table. His wife emerged from a door further along.
'Where is Senhor Thorn?'
Marco shrugged. 'I was told to take him to a boat, in the harbour. It was a big motor yacht, very smart. They said there was a doctor, an English doctor, on board. The doctor I took him to first was out, so it seemed best.'
'But where is he?' Lidia demanded. 'Why didn't you wait and bring him back?'
'They said they would take him straight to his hotel, it would be less disturbance than driving back here, up this track. They can anchor off the beach and use their dinghy to put him ashore with his friends.'
'Then perhaps you can take this lady in her car back to the hotel also. You can come back by bus.'
'I can drive the hire car,' Lidia insisted, but they would not permit it, saying the bump on her head had been serious. She didn't argue. She wanted to get back to the others as soon as possible. She had a nasty feeling all was not well.
*
When Selina took Peter back to her house for tea, she found Bernie sprawling on a sun bed on the terrace. He raised a languid hand, and sat up.
'Pop, good to see you. I'm sorry I didn't get back in time to meet you.'
'No problem, son. Your Selina has been entertaining me. It's a beautiful island, I can see why you enjoy living here.'
Bernie frowned. 'Yes, it may be, but it's too out of the swing of things. I think I'm going to have to go back to New York, or at least somewhere in the States, if I'm going to get the sort of commissions I want.'
Selina began to say something, but at that moment Charlie emerged from the kitchen with a jug of orange juice and two glasses.
'Hi, Peter. I'll fetch more glasses, unless you want something stronger?'
'That'll do me fine. We'll celebrate this evening, when I take you all out for a meal. Can you recommend anywhere good? I fancy trying one of those places in what they call the Old Town.'
An instant argument developed as Bernie and Selina tussled over their favourite restaurants. Charlie sighed.
'It's the same whenever we go out,' she said.
'Then let's toss for it.'
'Do we need to book?' Peter asked.
'It's best for the more popular places. Look, you two, toss for it, and I'll go and book a table. Peter, do you need to go back to your hotel?'
'No. But tell me, Bernie, how did your trip back home go? Were there any good pickings?'
Bernie began to list the commissions he had obtained, and then went on to bemoan the ones he had missed, or which had been given to other composers. Selina soon left them and went into the house. Did she want to go back to America? Was she even being consulted? The way Bernie spoke he seemed to think it was his decision alone. She began to wonder about finding the Major with Peter that morning. It explained his constant trips to Funchal, and she presumed that even when she and Catherine had not trailed him, he must have been going to Reid's, presumably in order to see whether Peter had arrived. How very odd. By the way they had been chatting that morning when she arrived, like old friends, it certainly looked as though they had once known one another. But why had the Major been acting so urgently, wanting to see Peter? Why could he not have waited until, in the normal course of events, they met at someone's house? Perhaps Catherine would know. She must make a point of asking when the party on Dominic's yacht returned from Porto Santo.
*
'Please, can we go past the harbour?' Lidia asked as Marco drove down the track from the house. 'If Mr Thorn is still on the yacht, we could take him back with us.'
'No problem.'
He cut through Vila Baleira and turned towards the port, stopping where they had a good view of the marina. The ferry to Funchal was just leaving. Marco got out of the car and looked around.
'The yacht they took Mr Thorn on has left already,' he said. 'It was distinctive, with red stripes along the hull. They must have taken him back to the hotel by boat as they said they would. And I think that is the hire car the others were driving.'
'What sort of yacht was it?' Lidia asked. She had a bad feeling.
'It was big, but I don't know what kind of boat, I was never a seaman.'
Lidia nodded. 'Thank you for checking. I'd better get back to the hotel now.'
Catherine and Fiona were still sitting on the beach when she arrived back at the hotel. Bobby was helping Millie build sand castles. Dominic was nowhere to be seen, neither was the yacht with the red stripe, though there were a few boats in the bay, and she presumed if he was back he would have gone to lie on his bed. Perhaps she ought to let him know she was safely back, and had only a mild headache after her fall.
The receptionist told her she had not seen Senhor Thorn, but she had been on a break until a few minutes ago. Lidia nodded, and hurried upstairs to the room Dominic and Bobby were to share. The feeling she had that all was not well was growing stronger, and when there was no answer to her knock she grew close to panic.
She struggled to keep calm. She must see Catherine first. Perhaps Dominic was somewhere else in the hotel. They would have people qualified in first aid. Or they might have sent for a doctor. First she would ask Catherine if she had seen Dominic return.
Catherine glanced up at her with a smile when she walked across the sand, then stood up abruptly.
'What's the matter? You look worried.'
'Is Dominic back? Have you seen him?'
'Dominic? No, isn't he with you? Lidia, what's happened?'
Lidia struggled to hold back her tears as she explained. Catherine stared at her in horror.
'That devil broke his arm, and then took him to his friends' yacht, and you don't know where he is? Have they kidnapped him, if they didn't bring him back here as they promised? It's unbelievable!'
'Not if that beast Livermore is involved. Catherine, we must call the police.'
Catherine nodded. 'Don't tell the others yet. There may be a simple explanation and we don't want to upset Millie.'
They walked back to the hotel, and in the foyer the receptionist called to Lidia.
'There is a message for you.'
Lidia snatched the envelope and tore it open. There was a single sheet of paper inside, written in English.
'We have taken your friend Mr Thorn back to Funchal. We can get there tonight, our boat is faster than yours, and he needs hospital treatment.'
*