On the bus into Funchal the following day Catherine had plenty to think about. First her mother had been brought home by taxi, and Jenny, summoning her to the Fraser villa, had simply told her Margaret was unwell and needed to go straight to bed. Before she could discover more from her mother, who was looking stunned, John had appeared, leading an equally mute Major by the arm. Her parents had retreated to their room, Margaret asking with a gentle smile to be left alone.
Worried, Catherine had called Fiona to bring their night things, saying they'd both better stay the night there. Some hours later she was woken by Fiona creeping into bed beside her.
'Darling, what is it?' she asked in alarm. 'Are you ill?'
'I don't know what's going on.' Fiona shivered. 'Gran and Gramps have been talking for hours. I can hear them in my room, but I can't hear what they're saying. It even sounded, at one time, as though Gramps was crying! Gramps! It's not possible, it doesn't make sense!'
'Could they be ill?' Catherine asked, sitting up and switching on her light.
'No, I'm sure they aren't. They've both been talking, I could distinguish two voices, but it wasn't strained or agitated, like Gran gets if any of us have just colds. Mum, ought we to see what it is?'
Catherine paused. 'Stay here,' she said at last. 'I'll just go and listen at their door for a minute. I don't want to butt in unless it's something they can't cope with.'
A couple of minutes later she came back.
'Are they OK?' Fiona asked urgently.
'Yes, I'm sure they are. I even heard them laughing! At least, I'm pretty positive it was laughter.'
'Weird,' Fiona commented as she snuggled back under the bedclothes. 'Do you mind if I stay here? I can't sleep in my old room, it's too peculiar.'
In the morning her parents had been very quiet, scarcely speaking. They gave no hint of why they had been brought home separately the previous evening, replying to Catherine's tentative question that yes, thank you, the evening had been satisfactory. She could not bring herself to ask more. It was a relief to escape from the stifling atmosphere and return to her own villa. Her thoughts swung to the excitement awaiting her with the computer. She had never imagined a mere machine could be so enthralling.
Dominic was waiting for her at the bus station.
'Hi, did you come to walk along with me? That was kind,' she greeted him. 'We don't need a taxi,' she added, as he guided her towards a waiting vehicle.
'I'm sorry, the lesson will have to wait. My mother's asked me to go to her house. She was going to phone you too, but I said you'd be here within half an hour.'
*
'Damned fool!' The Major said under his breath, but without his usual vehemence.
'They should put the car lights on in tunnels, dear,' Margaret agreed with him.
'At least there is a tunnel. When my mother spent a winter here, that was just before she died, I came out for the Christmas hols and the only way to reach this tip of the island was by boat or a ghastly path even the goats avoided. Some of the more remote areas are still remarkably backward.'
'I think that's why I like this part so much.'
'We came up here years ago, remember, exploring, when we were deciding whether to buy the villa?'
They lapsed into silence as the Major drove along the increasingly rough road, little more than a track, through a desolate landscape of low, grass-covered rocks. He parked the car and they began to walk, following narrow tracks. After ten minutes or so they halted, and the Major spread a rug he'd taken from the car on a flat rock. Margaret smiled at him and they sat staring at the sea.
'I'm sorry,' the Major said at last.
'Sorry? You don't need to be sorry. It was a long time ago, Hamish, and before you met me.'
'I did see her again, though we didn't – it was just an old friends' meeting, having a drink and a meal together. That doesn't make it any better. It was unforgivable of me, to take up with Jackie again when you were carrying Catherine.'
'I do understand,' she reassured him gently. 'She was impressive last night, she must have been utterly enchanting when she was young.'
'She was a drug. None of the fellows who went to that pub could resist her, she'd only to drop her handkerchief and they came flocking. I was cock-a-hoop when she showed she preferred me. Foolish pride. I felt I'd scored over the other chaps. But that was long before I met you.'
'It doesn't matter,' Margaret said, watching a lizard on an adjacent rock. 'You are older than I, and it must have been very lonely for young men in the army. You needed whatever relaxation you could find.'
'I – was fond of her,' he said hoarsely. 'I might have asked her to marry me, but deep down I knew it would never do, she'd be the ruin of any chances I had of advancement. She wouldn't have known how to behave.'
'And I did?'
'You were ideal,' he said, nodding. 'I haven't thought of it this way before, but I think it was fear that some of the youngsters in the regiment might find themselves with the same choice, and not be so strong as I was, that made me clamp down hard on any signs of loose living.'
'Until you met her again?' Margaret said, and the Major, not perceiving the wry tone in her voice, nodded.
'I've no excuses,' he said quietly. 'I was worried, unhappy being separated from you, anxious about the child you were having, and she caught me at just the right moment. Or the wrong one, I suppose. But nothing serous happened, I promise. Just a few kisses, you know how it is.'
His fingers were busy, picking at the fossilised stalks which littered the surfaces of the rocks around them.
'I'm sure I do,' Margaret said, trying to sound convincing. The Major glanced at her and sighed. 'You must forget it. I intend to. Now Hamish, promise me we'll never mention it again? It was a long time ago, before we even met, and later was not important, it's not going to spoil the rest of our lives.'
*
To Catherine's horror, they saw Jackie when she and Dominic reached the Thorn villa. She was standing outside her father's house, a short distance away, surrounded by even more press people than before. She wore a red blouse that screamed with her hair, several long necklaces, and a flowing skirt composed of tiers of flounces which made her look twice her size. Beneath that they could see high-heeled red sandals.
'The Major and Mrs Fraser went out earlier,' John Thorn said softly, coming up behind them. 'I've tried to tell them there's no point in waiting, I don't know when they will be back, but they won't believe me. They are convinced we are hiding them.'
Catherine tried to persuade them her parents were not at home, without success, but then she caught sight of Dominic. He had slipped away from beside her and was now talking to a couple of the journalists. There was a sudden surge as they precipitously departed, the cameramen in hot pursuit, and Jackie was left looking somewhat disgruntled, deserted even by her personal press minders.
'What did you do to get rid of them?' Catherine demanded as Dominic returned and they went towards the Thorn house. John had already gone inside.
'Told them a plane had overshot the runway, and a minor Royal was aboard.'
*
As they reached the gate Dominic found his arm grasped. It was the one that had been broken, and he winced as he turned to face Jackie, shaking her hand from his arm.
'What do you want?'
'You're the man accusing my Keith of cheating you, and I won't have it! My son's an honest businessman, I'll have you know.'
'And I suppose he wasn't responsible for taking me aboard that yacht and dumping me on a wet, cold, hard quay with a broken arm?'
'Of course he wasn't. He's not like that, he's a good boy, my Keith. You made it up to make him look bad, just because he's better at his business than you are.'
'Then how is it I have several independent witnesses to how I came to be on that yacht? As for being better at business, he's better at cheating than I am. Why don't you stop peddling your lies when you don't know the first thing about it?'
'Ooh! Calling me a liar, are you, now! That'll make a good story for my reporters, that will.'
'You ought to be careful, Mizz Jackson,' Catherine said. 'Why don't you find out the correct facts before you start throwing accusations around?'
'I know what I know, and you'd better be careful yourself and keep your nose out of what doesn't concern you, Miss.'
She turned away, looking round anxiously, but the street was empty. Her press pack had vanished.
'Where the hell can I get a taxi in this god-forsaken place?'
'Go up the hill, for about half a mile. There's a taxi rank there,' Catherine said, and when Jackie began to protest that she wasn't dressed for climbing up mountains Catherine shrugged and thrust Dominic through the gateway into the garden.
'There's a rank just below us,' Dominic said softly. 'Had you forgotten?'
Catherine giggled, and pulled him into the house before she spoke.
'No, but I thought a good uphill walk might calm the dreadful woman down.'
*
On the following morning Peter and another guest from Reid's were having coffee, sitting at a table outside the Beer House, a restaurant which projected on a sort of peninsula from the front beside the marina, when Peter suddenly stood up.
'Lend me your binoculars, Dave.'
He focussed on a yacht just easing into the marina. It was like the one which had been described to him, with a bright red stripe along the hull.
'I wonder,' he murmured, and pulled out his phone.
'What is it, Peter?'
'I think that's the yacht young Dominic was put on when he was abducted,' Peter replied. 'Hi there, is that you, Dominic? Where are you?' He listened for a moment. 'Can you see the marina from your apartment? There's a yacht coming in now, looks it could be your special transport... OK, I'll go and take photos of anyone who comes away from it. But I suggest you keep out of sight, or they will be suspicious.'
He closed the phone and signalled for the check.
'If it's those scoundrels you told me about, you won't try to tackle them yourself, will you?' Dave sounded worried.
'No, I'm not daft. But a tourist taking photos of the yachts won't be conspicuous, and if I can get the people from the yacht into them they might help the police.'
Dave produced a small digital camera from his pocket.
'Then I'll come and take pictures too. Between us we should catch them all.'
Peter had been looking at the yacht.
'That's handy, they have moored on the far side, so it will be easy to go up onto the pier and see who comes from it. Then we can go and put the photos on Dominic's computer, and he can take them to the police.'
*
Peter was just positioning himself to take the first shot of a man in old-fashioned yachting clothes who was standing on the quay beside the yacht when he saw a large woman hurrying along the quay, arms outstretched. She was wearing white trousers straining over her enormous backside, and a purple top. She had bright red hair that would not have looked natural on a woman half her age, and carried a large canvas satchel.
'Where's my Keith?' she demanded of the yachtsman. 'Is he with you?'
Peter didn't hear the reply, but the man turned back and, taking the woman's arm, guided her towards the yacht.
'That must be Livermore's mother,' Peter said quietly to Dave. 'I can't be mistaken.'
'Some woman, eh? Then it seems as if her son is on the yacht. Do we need to tell anyone? He's wanted by the police, isn't he? For that business with your friend in Porto Santo you told me about.'
Peter was once more using his phone.
'I'll let Dominic's father know. John knows the local police. He can alert them. I don't want Dominic coming down here, even though his apartment is close by.'
'If he can see the yacht from his window he may have seen the woman go aboard. Does he know her?'
'Yes, he saw her yesterday, with her press entourage. But I hope he'll have too much sense to come down here and show himself.'
'Hadn't you better let him know his father is contacting the police?'
'I'll do that. Gee, this seems just like the old days, when I did a spell in the military police!'
'We can't stand here for hours until they come ashore,' Dave said. 'Let's grab a table down at that café and keep watch while we have a drink.'
They ordered beer, but there was no activity on the yacht. It was almost lunchtime, and the waiters were looking at them and presenting menus.
'We'll have to order some food if we want to stay here,' Dave said, worried. 'But I promised the wife I'd be back in the hotel for lunch.'
'Then you'd better go. Don't worry, the police are bound to be here soon, but I'll order something to keep the chef happy!'
He was soon eating an omelette, trying to keep watch on the yacht, which was being obscured by a crowd of tourists who were clearly in some sort of group, and being given a lecture about the marina by a long-winded guide who spoke first in English and then in German. Then he jumped to his feet and pushed his way to the front. The yacht was moving, leaving the marina. Livermore's mother must still be on it, she certainly hadn't come back, he couldn't have missed her, and there was nothing he could do. He went slowly back to his table where a somewhat worried waiter stood waving the check. Did the local police have jurisdiction over the port, or would they have to involve a different set of officialdom?
If Jackie was still aboard, and if he was right that he hadn't spotted her coming back, it must mean they would not be going far. She at least would want to be put ashore somewhere in Madeira.
*
Dominic was listening to Henriques on his mobile while trying to watch the yacht in the marina. He couldn't see Peter, and hoped he was keeping a low profile. Apart from taking photos to identify people from the yacht, there was nothing anyone could do.
For a few moments he lost concentration on what Henriques was saying. Surely that large, red-haired woman was Jackie Jackson? He watched her board the yacht. She had no luggage apart from a canvas satchel, so she must be staying in Madeira. Maybe her son was on the yacht and she was going to see him. Did he not dare to come ashore?
He switched his attention back to Henriques.
'Felip has proof that Zapata is switching the orders that come from new customers,' Henriques reported. 'I suppose he thinks because we have no record of earlier purchases, they are the safest to target.'
'And most of them will not have bought from our shops, so won't have anything to compare for quality. Does Felip have proof of where the orders are being sent?'
'Not yet, but he says he will do in a few days, and also have an address for the warehouse attached to the orders.'
'Good. When we have that I will come over and we will start proceedings, in whichever country the warehouse is in. Is there any connection yet with Livermore?'
'Not yet, and Felip says it will be difficult for him to discover any. You need someone in finance, who can disentangle what Felip suspects will be a web of companies. You know the sort, anonymous names, holding companies, addresses in countries where getting information is virtually impossible.'
'I know.' Dominic sighed. Might Helene be able to help with this?
Then his attention switched back to the marina. The yacht was moving, easing itself out into the harbour.
'I must go now, Henriques. Tell Felip he's done a magnificent job. I'll be in touch.'
He disconnected and hastily keyed in Peter's number.
'Oh, thank goodness. I've been trying to get you, but your phone was always engaged,' Peter said. 'The yacht is leaving.'
'Yes, I can see. Was that Jackie going aboard? And has she left?'
'It was her, and I'm positive she's still on the boat. I could hardly have missed her.'
Dominic laughed. 'That's true. Look, I can see from here which direction they take, east or west. They'll have to decant Jackie somewhere, so will you contact Bernie and Justin and ask them to be ready to drive to wherever? If Justin can borrow a car, all the better, we'll have more mobility. We can keep in touch and between us look at all the possible dropping off places.'
'Do you want me along?' Peter sounded wistful.
'I want you as liaison, that we can all contact. Come up to my apartment, you can be comfortable here.'
*