CHAPTER TEN

Foul play

The grand opening was at ten o’clock. Greg, Mary, Chris and David were on duty well before that. They had attached boat details to over a hundred of the spaces on the display boards. First to arrive, well before ten, were Brian Hope and Tom Sinclair from QC in a large Daimler, which Brian was driving. He went round to the boot and produced an enormous bouquet of lilies tied with a blue ribbon. He walked toward Mary, waiting with Greg outside the office door.

‘Mrs Norfield, I presume? Please accept these with my very best wishes for the future.’

Mary took his hand and managed to balance this huge spray in the crook of her other arm.

‘I hear from David and Greg’, he continued, ‘that you had a great deal to do with getting this office together.’ And, looking at the shrubs in boxes along the front, he said, ‘That’s a very nice touch.’

David pointed his finger very obviously at Mary.

‘Let’s have the grand tour, then,’ said Brian.

They all went in and it was clear from his looks and head-nodding that all he saw pleased him.

‘And within budget?’

‘Of course,’ said Mary before anyone else could utter a word.

Next to arrive was the mayor and his wife, who, logged by the local press photographer and reporter, cut the traditional ribbon across the entrance and wished the enterprise good fortune.

‘Good for your company, and good for the towns of Kingswear and Dartmouth,’ he said.

The arrival of a dark brown Rolls Royce, driven by a young Arab in mid-blue matching jacket and trousers, and a dark blue pleated turban, drew much attention. He stopped the car outside the office door, went round to the passenger side, and opened the door for Sheikh Samad. He added a sense of quality to the occasion, wearing the traditional white thobe and chequered gutra headdress. Chris introduced him to the mayor with his ornate gold chain and badge of office.

‘I am most privileged to meet an English mayor,’ acclaimed the Sheikh, to which the mayor replied, ‘As am I to meet you, Your Highness. We are pleased that you have chosen this shipyard to build your patrol boat.’

‘Come,’ said the Sheikh - ‘please call me Sam, and I will show you.’ He waved his hand toward the nearby pontoon where the boat lay. He took the mayor by the elbow.

Chris led the way. As they walked down the gangway they could be heard chatting like old friends. The photographer had a field day, and Greg managed to manoeuvre them into a position where L’Enterprise, the next boat along, would be included in shots he took of the Qatar craft.

Alan Lucas, the new owner of L’Enterprise, had thanked Greg for inviting him to the QC opening. He arrived in the Bentley to collect his new purchase. He was accompanied by three young men dressed in white roll-necks, navy slacks and deck shoes. Although short, he looked the part in his dark blue blazer and white well-pressed trousers below which showed his top-of-the-range doeskin deck shoes. He was clearly pleased to be introduced to the Sheikh but declined the hospitality on offer.

‘This is my son,’ he said to Greg as he introduced the shortest of the three young men. ‘The other two who have gone aboard are my crew. I would like to get under way, please.’

David was on board, briefing the crew about the controls. Greg and David helped them to cast off. Sheikh Samad took much interest in what was going on.

During that afternoon they had a steady trickle of visitors. The caterers kept the buffet freshly stocked and made sure the champagne didn’t run out. Sheikh Samad, glass of orange juice in hand, seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, chatting to everyone.

‘Look, this is your event and we seem to be hijacking it,’ Chris said quietly to David and his boss, Brian Hope.

‘Not a bit of it,’ replied Brian, looking toward the Sheikh. ‘I think we should be paying you for the star attraction.’

Chris explained to David that the next day, Sunday, would be the first day of the sea trials and that the Sheikh would drive over from Torquay every day with his crew. He intended to go to sea with the boat each time. Chris hoped that three or four days would see the completion of the trials.

‘I’m rather afraid’, said David to Greg, ‘that Alan Lucas may not be enjoying his trip round to Fowey. The forecast wasn’t bad but, with wind against tide, I think his idea of a gentle cruise may not be quite that.’

The caterers cleared up at five o’ clock and Greg left a notice on the door: “Open for business from ten a.m. Sunday.” It had been a hard but highly successful day.

Brian Hope’s departing remark was heard: ‘Let us see that it carries on the way it has started.’

That is the way he was: short on words, high on expectation.

David motored back to Lymington on Sunday morning. Before he left, he called back into the office and advised Greg and Mary that they were entitled to a weekday off together in view of the need for the sales office to be open at weekends. QCs experience with their other smaller offices was that they had no complaints if the office was closed on a Wednesday. A message on the answer machine and a notice in the window to this effect would be in order.

A few people came into the QC office on Sunday - including Bob Berry, who was the owner of the Fisher 34 they had signed up to sell. He tied the boat up on the visitors’ pontoon and after he left Greg was quick to go down to the pontoon and tie his first QC “For Sale” signs on her.

This yacht with her tan sails and dark varnished brightwork looked in good condition and he hastened to get the photos he’d taken earlier together with details off to Lymington for them to produce the print for the display board.

Early on Monday morning, as Greg and Mary were about to open the QC office, Chris leaned over the balcony.

‘Can you spare a minute, Greg?’

Mary said she would open up and look after things as Greg climbed the stairs to Chris’s office. Chris’s face showed that something was wrong.

‘I had a phone call at home last night from my restaurant friend Antonio Favresi to tell me that the police called on him to ask about Selby Somerfield-Smythe. It would seem they were investigating his disappearance. I didn’t know at that point anything about Selby’s disappearance so of course I phoned Harry. He explained why he hadn’t wanted to bother me.’

‘He was concerned that you and the yard should not be implicated in any way,’ said Greg.

‘Well, we could be,’ continued Chris. ‘Antonio, you and I are implicated. I think it a good idea if we sort out our next move. Antonio has said all the right things to the police. Somehow they had found the name and address of his restaurant and faced with the direct question “Do you know this man?” he told the truth. He told them that he’d known Selby because a customer, he couldn’t remember which one, in a conversation with him about where he obtained his fresh fish, had replied that he got it from a merchant in Torbay. He told the police that this customer had sent Selby to see him about bringing the stuff up from Brixham. The truth, however, according to Antonio, was that Selby had tried to blackmail him into giving him business on the threat of revealing to the police the source of the two or three deliveries of your “bits of trade” that he’d made from the Curnow Yard.’

All this came as no surprise to Greg. Selby was a blackmailer. Hoping to cheer Harry up, and with no Flossie in the room, he used the internal phone to contact the warehouse. No reply. Greg wanted to tell him that whatever happened to Selby he would have the right to live in the cottage for at least thirty years before he could be challenged.

There was a clattering of footsteps on the stairs. Harry burst into the office.

‘They’ve found Selby!’ he exclaimed.

He sank into the nearest chair, his hand clasped across his mouth, seemingly unable to say any more. His distress was obvious. For a moment none of them spoke. Chris placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

‘And?’

‘They found him stuffed down a bloody sewer in Putney,’ Harry shouted. ‘They wouldn’t tell me any more, other than that the forensic report after checking his van revealed signs that he had struggled in the driver’s seat. That and marks round his neck led them to believe he had been strangled some time before his body was discovered. Because I was the last known person to see him alive they’re sending someone down right now to interview me.’

‘What can we do for you, right now, Harry?’ said Chris.

‘I need to get home. They’ll be knocking on my door. Then they’ll be round here. I know how these things are. I’ve been through it all before. I am so sorry, Chris. I’ve let you down.’

‘Come on, Harry - I’ll drive you home. I want to be with you when the police arrive. Greg here will let the others know where I am.’

John Dalton, and then Flossie, turned up shortly after Chris and Harry had left the yard.

‘They’ve left on a family matter. It’s to do with Selby’s disappearance,’ Greg told them. ‘I’ll be up again in a minute to explain. I must pop down and put Mary in the picture.’

This he did, but omitted the gruesome details. Revelling in the luxury of having his wife look after the QC business, he went back up to the Curnow offices to explain further to John and Flossie.

Would Mary ever forgive him for being relieved that the question of what to do about Selby? was now resolved?

Chris and Harry returned after lunch. Harry wanted to work to keep his mind occupied with matters other than his pal. Chris found an excuse to ask Greg down to the pontoon, where they could not be overheard.

‘The meeting at the cottage with the police went well, Greg. I didn’t detect any bias against Harry because he had a criminal record. I was able to reassure them that myself, as well as a number of people here, could vouch for Harry’s movements and whereabouts since Selby went missing. I told them all of us here would be happy to cooperate.’

‘What about his deliveries to Antonio in Soho?’ said Greg.

‘There is no evidence. Selby had no paperwork from here. It was all for cash. Harry was the only other person to know and he’s not telling, is he? Let’s put it behind us, Greg. I don’t believe we can blame ourselves in any way for his death. It seems to me that he must have fallen foul of some very unpleasant people for one reason only - he was trying or threatening to blackmail them about something he had discovered.’

‘Do you really believe that, Chris?’

‘I’d put money on it. The impression I got from the police this morning was that they knew the perpetrators were a terrorist gang in London. They hinted that the manner of Selby’s death and disposal carried the gang’s hallmark.

Greg chose to hide his anxiety about the Selby affair from Mary and was not comfortable at the deception about his own dubious past activities. He was pensive that afternoon - so much so that Mary asked him if anything was wrong.

He knew what his feelings of guilt told him to do. He might withhold from the police what he knew about Selby but then Selby wasn’t deserving of the truth and wasn’t alive to care either. Mary was.

In bed that night Greg held Mary tight.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he said. ‘You won’t like what you hear but I believe there’s a bigger chance of losing your love if I don’t tell you.’

She wriggled round to face him. The little bed light was still on.

‘I’ve been waiting for this all day,’ she said. ‘I knew there was something wrong this morning. In fact, I think I’ve known for some time. Nothing you tell me will ever stop me loving you, my darling Greg. We promised each other we would share everything in our lives together; please God he doesn’t let either of us fall at the first hurdle.’

There was moisture in her eyes as she waited for him to continue.

‘In revealing something to you my lovely, I am breaking a promise to someone else, but it’s you I care about most. Please let me get to the end of what I have to tell before you say anything. Some time ago I was asked to do something for my country. A covert operation to which I was sworn to secrecy.’

At this point Mary raised two fingers and placed them on his lips. He understood the gesture but not why she had done it. He thought maybe she needed to say something as he had asked her not to speak. He frowned.

‘It’s me that should be making a confession, my darling one,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know it was possible to love you any more than I do. You are prepared to break a solemn promise because you love me.’ Tears came to her eyes. ‘It should be me that has to confess, you lovely old fool.’

Greg was totally confused and it showed on his face.

She continued: ‘Do you trust me, Greg?’

‘You know I do, absolutely.’

‘Then do not say any more. I also am bound to secrecy over a matter I have not told you about. It has been bothering me ever since our wedding day. Bless you for what you have said. Now that we know that each of us is committed to a pledge we should not break I would like to sleep on it till the morning. That’s what my father told me to do when I was a child.’

They cuddled up together, relieved of something each had thought would come between them.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Mary as they sipped their coffee in the morning.

‘Hope it didn’t hurt, my love.’

Mary smiled. ‘You’re being facetious again, darling. I am serious. About last night: ‘the way I see it is that we are morally obliged to keep a pledge. All the time we trust each other we have no problem. Should either of us behave in a way likely to raise doubts in the other we simply say we are on duty.

‘I like it’ was Greg’s response.

‘However, if I catch you with another woman, don’t you dare tell me you are on duty!’

Greg put down his coffee mug.

‘One more thing, my love. I think you need to know the full story about Selby. I know you’ll understand why I haven’t told you before, but Harry only recently came out of prison. We are all doing our best to help him back to a normal life. Selby was his cell mate and they became friends, sharing Selby’s cottage in Buckfastleigh when they came out of Dartmoor together. It seemed right at the time, when I found out, not to break a confidence by telling you.’

Mary got the breakfast on the go.

‘Thanks for that. You know you can rely on my discretion. My! Look at the time. We’ve got work to do.’

The patrol-boat trials commenced. The Sheikh and his crew turned up each day for runs in the boat outside the harbour in the morning. They all then went back to their hotel for lunch and prayers. They returned in the afternoon if a further run was needed.

One morning the specialists from the German engine manufacturers accompanied them and explained about their service facilities in the Middle East. On the fifth day the trials were signed off and the crew of five took the boat to Southampton docks for onward transmission. The crew were going to travel with the boat in the freighter on which she was to be loaded as deck cargo.

Chris took the Sheikh to his aircraft at Exeter Airport. He was buoyed up by the prospect of another lucrative order for a similar craft. This second order depended on the performance of the first, which was still in Southampton. After that, who knows? However, the workshop had plenty of commissions for maintenance and repairs during the winter.

***

With an invitation from the Trehairnes to join them on Christmas Day, Mary and Greg decided to sail round to Salcombe. As soon as the yard closed for the holiday they cast off and headed west. Well clear of the harbour, snuggled up together in the cockpit, Mary looked at Greg.

‘This is what sailing is all about: away from the hassle, master of your own destiny, and a welcoming landfall ahead.’

‘Aided, to no small extent,’ deemed Greg, ‘by a north wind giving us a calm sea in the lee of the land, good speed through the water, and could we ever forget that sight ahead of us as the sun drops down toward the horizon and a ribbon of shimmering light on the water guides us to our destination?’

‘Poetic,’ said Mary, ‘but true. I shall not forget this day.’

The spectacular cliffs at the entrance and the picturesque run up the river past the town to the quay were new for Mary. With no commerce taking place at the town quay on Christmas Eve they had a peaceful night.

Christmas Day dawned bright and cold but a relight of the cabin heater soon had them warm again. Never had bacon and eggs tasted so good, and the prospect of the day with friends cheered them even more.

Came a knock on the deck.

‘Permission to come aboard?’

Greg slid back the hatch to see a familiar face. It was Nick.

‘I’m your chauffeur,’ he said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

Greg started to make the introductions when he remembered, and Mary interrupted: ‘We’re old friends’ she said, laughing.

‘Yes,’ said Greg, ‘I remember now. You were reminiscing at our wedding party - something about on board a tanker.’

‘Nothing for you to be jealous about,’ said Mary. ‘After ten years he couldn’t even remember me.’

They climbed into Nick’s Land Rover and made off up the hill. They were greeted warmly by the Trehairnes. Already seated by a roaring log fire in that huge old fireplace now surrounded by holly rich with red berries, were Uncle Robert, Julia, and Joan’s sister Ruth Davidson, with whom Julia was living whilst at Exeter University.

Mary noticed Greg looking at Julia as they entered the room. As if to pre-empt her thoughts he spontaneously gave Mary a big hug and a smile that said it all.

Nick knew everyone present. It was only Ruth Davidson who had to be introduced to Greg and Mary. Joan elaborated by telling them that her older sister had been widowed some ten years now and lived on her own. She was enjoying having her niece to stay and the two of them got along like a house on fire.

‘Penny for them,’ said Mary to Greg. ‘Thought I’d lost you there - you were miles away for a few moments.’

‘I was thinking just how lucky I was to have married you,’ said Greg truthfully, as Frank produced a jug of scrumpy.

Frank told them that this particular vintage, made from last year’s home apple crop, was special and that as he knew they could all keep a secret he would tell them what that secret was after they had tried it. Greg read something more into the phrase “keep a secret” than was intended.

‘Well,’ said Frank, raising his mug, ‘I know it’s Dickensian but a Happy Christmas to us all,’ followed by ‘What do you think?’

All pronounced that it was the best yet.

Frank revealed that this year’s secret ingredient was - rose petals.

It was a fantastic feast the Trehairnes laid out that Christmas Day. The nineteenth-century room, with low beams generously decorated with holly and mistletoe, and lit candles on the table, provided a warm feeling for the family and friends sat around it. Nobody doubted Mary when she said it was the finest Christmas meal she had ever had.

Joan wound up the proceedings by playing “Auld Lang Syne” as they all stood around the piano and sang, holding hands in the time-honoured way.

The family refused offers of help to clear up. While Nick and Ruth Davidson sat down by the fire to chat, Mary and Greg opted for a walk down to the creek.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Mary said, ‘It doesn’t need an ex Customs officer to know that the wine and Calvados weren’t bought in this country. I guess that was the outcome of what they call moonshining in the West Country.’

‘Now come on, my lovely, lovely lady. Presents are exchanged at Christmas; this is a fishing port. I’ve seen French boats in here.’

Mary stepped in front of Greg, reached up and put her arms round his neck and her lips to his.

When they had finished their lingering kiss she said, ‘I was only joking.’

‘Oh,’ Greg replied, ‘I thought for a minute over lunch you were going to produce a pair of handcuffs and march them off to the brig.’

They chuckled.

Arm in arm they walked down to the creek. Standing on the landing, Mary was able to share a little of the peace and beauty of the place - the green rolling fields, the lapping of the water, and the throaty gurgles of Brent geese. Greg promised he would introduce her to Old Sam the seal when they sailed here together one day.

Driving them back to the boat, Nick told them a little about himself: ‘I love this job. I have plenty of responsibility. I meet a lot of people and I look after my old and infirm mother. She insisted that I had Christmas lunch with my friends, but I am going back to spend the rest of the day with her. Hope I didn’t drag you away before you wanted to leave,’ he said.

‘Not a bit,’ replied Greg. ‘Better to get back before dark.’

‘I’ll be round early in the morning to collect your harbour dues,’ said Nick with a grin and a wink as they got out of the Land Rover and waved him off.

They cast off before first light to catch the east-going tide and to get back whilst the weather held. It was marvellous, Greg thought, to have someone below making the butties and coffee whilst he, enjoying being under power from his quiet and smooth new engine, motored Amity down the harbour and out into the open sea. There was practically no wind, so they continued to motor whilst they sat close together bundled up in their warmest gear on a benign sea.

‘I reckon you fancied Nick,’ said Greg as they recalled the events of the day before.

‘No harm in you being a bit jealous.’

Before they reached Start Point a gentle breeze sprung up and they were able to turn off the engine and sail the rest of the way on port tack. Today was Boxing Day. They had three more days of holiday.

As they sailed northwards across Start Bay Greg asked Mary if her father had ever told her the story of Slapton Sands, visible only a mile or so to the west. He had after all seen much tragedy at sea.

She shook her head from side to side.

‘Toward the end of the last war in these very waters, here in Start Bay and to the east in Lyme Bay, over nine hundred, mainly American, troops and sailors died during exercises for the D-Day landings in Normandy. They were ambushed by German fast E-boats. Only last year a Sherman tank was raised from the bottom here where it had lain ever since. It is to be placed on shore as a memorial to that dreadful event.’

They were silent for a long time as Mary remembered words from the service of Burial at Sea uttered by her father many times: “They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in great waters”. She mouthed a silent prayer for those who would still be remembering their lost loved ones forty years later: Americans; who gave their lives for us.

It was a thoughtful couple who, the day after the celebration of the birth of Christ, sailed gently up the calm waters of the Dart remembering those who risk their lives at sea to defend our freedom.

‘Let’s go a little way upriver,’ Mary said to Greg as they glided past the steep wooded cliffs. ‘It is so peaceful. Just the two of us. We have everything we need for another day. Let’s find a quiet spot, drop the anchor, and count our blessings.’

‘I’m all for that,’ he replied, and well beyond Dittisham, upriver, they found their sheltered spot in an isolated creek where Greg knew it to be safe to drop anchor and later to take the ground. There they would be undisturbed except by seabirds and the creatures of the shallows.

They knew that due to work and the weather it was likely there would be no more sailing until the spring.

It had been a fantastic two days, and snug in the forecabin, keeping each other warm, they thanked God for his mercies and their love for each other.

Back at work on New Year’s Day Greg’s hunch proved right. They had several visitors, with enquiries from prospective buyers and sellers. The New Year had started with promise. Two days later the yard opened after the long break.

Harry came into the office to tell them that he was required to attend the inquest into Selby’s death in the West London Coroner’s Court during the second week in January, after which the body could be released for burial. Harry would have to make arrangements in London for the cremation in Torquay.

‘Do you think’, said Harry ‘that one of you at least, if you both can’t get away at the same time, could come to the service? It seems terrible, but as far as I know Selby had no friends or relations that I can contact and that means only myself and Chris will be attending the service.’

Mary promptly said she’d be pleased to go, leaving Greg in the office. She knew how Greg had felt about Selby. After all, they had promised to support Harry in any way they could. Chris came down to join them and let Harry know that Rosemary and Bill Fossett and his wife would go along as well.

Early the following week Harry had to go to London to identify the body. Chris went with him. The day after their return Chris told Greg that the police would release the body to Harry for burial after the inquest. A verdict of “killing by person or persons unknown” was almost certain. This would mean that the case remained open with the Metropolitan Police.