CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sergei

Nick Wroughton called on Frank Trehairne for an “urgent and private” talk. They went into the cider house, where they would not be disturbed.

‘A little birdie tells me that our friend in Dartmouth has retired,’ said Nick.

‘Depends what you mean by retired.’

‘The powers that be up in The Smoke have another very important project,’ continued Nick. ‘They say that our friend is the only one who can do the job. They say that he retired to please his wife. You know the two of them better than I. Do you think it would be possible for you to persuade him to do a little job?’

‘You are testing my loyalties now, Nick.’

‘That’s easy: put your country first.’

‘The answer to your question is “possibly”,’ said Frank.

‘I need an explanation for that, it’s contrary to what those above are saying.’

Frank paused for a few seconds.

‘When Christmas comes and you and your old mum are enjoying at your table the fruits of Robbie’s labours out to sea, so also will our mutual friend - via my “wholesalers”, of course!’

Nick’s subsequent conversation on the phone with David echoed Frank’s opinion.

‘The answer as to whether I could persuade Greg to help with Operation Sergei is that it is possible. I am prepared to try.’

David outlined the operation, which involved the use of L’Enterprise en route from Dartmouth to Lymington, under an agreement made with Greg for QC to sell her. However, on the way they (meaning Nick and Greg) would be “picking up Sergei” mid-Channel and offloading him in Lymington.

‘Sorry, Nick, old chap, but try isn’t good enough. Sergei won’t go with anyone other than Greg or myself. Sergei will be holed up in a safe house near Cherbourg any day now. The route we have chosen through Europe to Cherbourg has been proved to be secure. Our agents in the East have already laid false trails down through Austria and Switzerland. The only possible crew on L’Enterprise is Greg and yourself. I have to be here to organise the “taxi” to whisk Sergei away on a plane to the States. Sergei has been one of us for many years. He speaks several languages including a number of Arabic dialects, Russian, and English. He is nearly round the bend believing that the KGB is on to him. He is on his way to Cherbourg now. We must not keep him in a safe house there for long.

‘Give me another very good reason, David.’

‘Tell him that Sergei has been negotiating on behalf of the Soviets to supply arms to an organisation in the Middle East. We have excellent intelligence to suggest that this weaponry is for use against the West, and America in particular. Sergei is our man in serious danger. Tell Greg the man is Troag - the very same. Mary need never know anything other than that L’Enterprise is required urgently back here in Lymington. Tell him from me that one white lie deserves another.’

‘There is another way, if push comes to shove,’ said Nick. ‘I just don’t tell Greg what’s up until we’re well under way. What do you think?’

‘I thought of that, Nick, and don’t like it one little bit. Firstly, he’s quite capable of bringing the boat here single-handed and will wonder at your involvement. Secondly, only recently did he tell me personally that he wouldn’t do another trip. Better that you approach him on the basis that you are both involved, and I know he enjoys your company.’

Nick phoned Greg. Mary answered.

‘I need Greg over here urgently. I have a prospective customer for you, who doesn’t want it put about he is selling his boat. I’ve told this guy I know just the man.’

Greg drove over to Salcombe that afternoon. They met in a quiet corner of the lounge bar in The Marine Hotel, overlooking the river.

‘No matter what I have to say, Greg - will you hear me out?’

‘Of course, but what’s the mystery?’

‘Your work for The Firm has been appreciated. You have been told that. What you have probably guessed is that I too am part of that organisation.’

‘No surprise at all,’ interrupted Greg.

‘I’ll continue please, Greg,’ said Nick. ‘We now have a more enlightened chief than previously. He believes that we may discuss operations amongst ourselves but still on a need-to-know basis. What you need to know is as follows - and please don’t interrupt to tell me about your promises to your lovely wife, Mary.’

Greg remained silent.

Nick went on to explain about a fundamental Islamic organisation evolved from Maktab al-Khidamat in Afghanistan, believed now to be based in the Middle East, that called for global Jihad. There was clear evidence that they were now being supplied with arms and explosives by the Soviets and that they were turning their attention against the West, and the USA in particular.

‘Paradoxically, the Soviet Union were fighting in Afghanistan the very brothers of those they were arming. The Soviets will soon be withdrawing from Afghanistan. They will sell their massive surplus of weaponry to the Jihadists for the purpose of attacking the West without firing a shot themselves.’ Greg made as if to interrupt, but Nick held up his hand and continued: ‘You have rightly guessed that there is one more job before you retire. Mary need know nothing about it. In order to keep faith with your promise to Mary there will be no reward, no fee, for either you or me. I forgo mine because I respect you both. Now I will tell you what it is we have to do for our country - in fact it would not be too strong to say for world peace.’

Greg poured them both some more coffee and said nothing.

Nick described the plan for the two of them to take L’Enterprise to Lymington within the next forty-eight hours. He told Greg how David would organise matters upon their arrival and how they could collect Sergei on the way without increasing the total time for the passage to Lymington; thus there would be no suspicions aroused. The extra distance they would have to travel to the rendezvous in mid-Channel could be achieved in the same time by increasing their normal cruising speed. They would arrive at their destination, no one the wiser as to where they had been on the way. A 10 a.m. departure from Dartmouth would allow a 7.30 p.m. arrival in Lymington as requested by David. He wanted them to arrive after his staff had gone home. Finally Nick told Greg that Sergei was the same man that he landed in Dartmouth on the Troag exercise last year.

‘The Russian is adamant that he will not travel to Britain with anyone other than yourself or David. That fact is a non-negotiable part of his defection. Right now he doesn’t trust anybody else, which is why David has to meet him off the boat. David told me to tell you that Sergei is a close friend of Natasha and her husband, and that his life is at risk.’

Nick waited for what seemed a long time.

‘Look,’ said Greg, ‘perhaps you’d like to tell me what I am eventually to say to Mary. If I say yes to your request I’m certainly not going to tell her before the baby is born.’

‘David said to tell you one good white lie deserves another.’

‘Very funny.’

Greg said nothing more for what seemed a very long time. To save a life? Mary’s father would say yes if he were alive.

‘When do we go?’

‘Come to my office now. I will make a quick call. David will phone your office to say that he wants L’Enterprise in Lymington either tomorrow or the next day. If Mary doesn’t tell him where you are at the moment, he will ask her. If she hasn’t phoned my office within quarter of an hour you will phone her to say that you have had a call from David and that I would like to crew L’Enterprise with you for the Lymington trip. Even I know that no man would want his pregnant wife, with only a couple of months to go, to be crewing on an eight- or nine-hour wave-bashing.’

‘You knew I’d say yes, didn’t you?’ said Greg.

Nick smiled.

They went to the HM’s office. Nick made his call and within five minutes Mary was on the phone.

‘And you needn’t think I’m going to spend hours, beautiful boat or not, being thrown around. I rang you straight away in case you wanted to ask Nick to crew for you.’

Greg was back in the Devon Yachts office before closing time. He looked at Mary, busy behind the desk.

‘Nick’s up for it,’ he said. ‘He’s been itching to get on board again ever since the trip round from Fowey.’

‘I’m glad you’ll have a pal with you. Oh, and David apologized for the short notice.’

As they spoke David rang to say it was on for the very next day. He told them he’d checked on rail connections back from Lymington and suggested they took their sleeping kit and stayed overnight on board since it would be easier to get the train back the following morning.

Greg phoned Nick who said he’d get a lift to Curnow’s by 10 a.m. as his Land Rover was in for service. He did.

They cast off before ten thirty. The forecast was force four, south-west. This would give them wind with tide for the first few hours. Once clear of the harbour they set off on an easterly course to pass south of Portland Race. Nick laid out his charted plans for Greg to check. They were to make for a point fifty miles on track for the Isle of Wight. This would take them to seven miles south-east of Portland Bill and clear of the race, from where they would call David using their cellphone.

If the phone was out of range they could still use the coast radio station on marine-band VHF ship-to-shore. It wouldn’t matter if their position was located as they would still be on track for Lymington. This action would tell David that they were two hours from the rendezvous just north of East Channel One whistle buoy.

David would advise the French crew, which included Sergei. They would have ample time to launch the fast RIB from Cherbourg and meet as arranged. David’s “crew” all worked at the RIB factory fringing Cherbourg Harbour, from where they spent much time on sea trials for their thirty-five-knot-plus craft.

They increased the speed on L’Enterprise after the successful call to David and altered course eighty degrees south of their original track. Their target whistle buoy had a radar reflector. Nick manned the Decca wheelhouse radar whilst Greg worked on the position by dead reckoning. As competent navigators they viewed this exercise as a bit of a competition. They were only half an hour from the buoy when Nick revealed his “secret weapon”.

There was to be no radio communication that might be overheard between the two meeting craft. David had obtained from secret sources a visual strobe identifying binocular. It comprised a powerful binocular with a directional signal light and strobe connected to the boat’s twelve-volt supply. The range was up to ten miles in good visibility. The RIB also had this equipment and thus they could send Morse signals to each other for identification, rather like the old Aldis lamp but hand-held and very compact. This would ensure they were approaching the correct party but could not be read by anyone else.

It worked. Just north of the buoy and outside its two mile no-go area they received the letters Bravo Sierra from a fast-approaching boat, low in the water, coming from the south. Nick aimed their reply signal at them. They were alongside within five minutes. As requested, it was Greg who positioned himself at the boarding gap in the safety rails, where he could be seen clearly from the approaching craft, whilst Nick remained at the wheel on the bridge deck.

There were six men in the RIB. Greg instantly recognised the one with the goatee, whom he had met briefly on the Troag trip with David. With one foot on the sponson of the RIB this man leaned across and peered closely at Greg.

‘How is your wife?’

‘Pregnant,’ replied Greg, as arranged.

His proffered hand was taken as he helped the Russian onto the side deck.

There followed a large holdall heaved there by one of the French crew, who shouted, ‘Bon voyage Sergei, bon chance,’ before they sped away to the south.

The sound of their two powerful outboard motors faded rapidly. Greg led his visitor down to one of the en-suite cabins.

He turned to Greg: ‘So we meet again. Sergei is not my real name,’ he said with the slight accent that Greg recognised, ‘nor must I know yours or that of your friend on the bridge but I shall for ever be grateful for what you are doing.’

Nick had now pushed the speed up and set course northwards for the Isle of Wight. It was going to be a bumpy ride for a couple of hours or so. Greg showed Sergei how to avail himself of the facilities and change into the clothes he had brought with him.

Half an hour later, when Greg went down to the cabin as promised, Sergei had divested himself of the mechanic’s overalls he’d been wearing as his cover for boarding the RIB in Cherbourg. Greg left him to enjoy the snack he’d taken him, along with instructions not to leave the cabin until advised.

Greg joined Nick up on the bridge deck. Moving around the boat was becoming hazardous. At the speed they were going with wind across tide L’Enterprise was rolling as well as pitching wildly.

Two and a half hours after picking up Sergei they entered the Needles Channel. The rolling stopped but the pitching increased as the ebb out of the Solent against the wind presented them with short, steep waves which were breaking on the Shingles bank to port.

It was too dangerous to get out of their secure seats and attempt to climb down from the bridge deck to see how their visitor was faring below. They were forced to slow down to make the motion bearable.

Once past Hurst Point in calmer water on the sheltered west side of the Solent Greg went below. Sergei had sensibly lain down on the bunk for most of the trip. He was cheered, he said, when he saw land out of the porthole.

Greg rejoined Nick. They passed Jack-in-the-Basket mark to port and followed the Yarmouth ferry up the river to their berth at QC. David was waiting to help them tie up and then, as Nick and Greg adjusted the springs, he went below to greet Sergei.

‘Why you go to all this trouble and danger?’ said Sergei.

‘Because we must help those who help us seek peace and freedom’ was David’s reply. He called for the other two to join them in the cabin below.

‘We have not used our real names, nor shall we do so,’ he said, ‘but Sergei wishes to thank you in his own words. I will go ashore now to arrange his taxi. Nobody here will take any notice of a guy coming ashore and getting into a car, just as nobody in Cherbourg was likely to notice that six mechanics went out in the RIB for speed trials and only five came back. When I return to the boat in a few minutes the three of you can come up on deck and say farewell to our friend as if you’ve known him for years.’

‘I cannot thank you enough,’ said Sergei. ‘I was close - within hours, I think, of arrest. I know how everyone treat me since I leave Turkey three days ago that I move into better world. I thank Allah that I attend British university and learn about your ways of freedom.’

David called from the pontoon and they helped Sergei ashore with his holdall.

‘May your God go with you,’ he said quietly to the other two before David led him up the gangway.

From the deck they saw just the top of the car on the quay above before it drove off. David came straight back to the boat.

‘Right, you guys, you will be pleased to know that I have brought forward some maintenance we have to carry out on a boat we sold last week. She’s now berthed in Exmouth and it is better for us to send an engineer there to do the work than bring her back here. This means you don’t have to suffer the tedious journey back by train in the morning. I have instructed Pete, our engineer, to first take you both to Kingswear by road in the morning and then do Exmouth on the way home. I have much to talk about with you tonight. I will push off down to the Chinese takeaway and bring back our supper while you tidy ship. On board here we can talk freely.’

‘I like it,’ said Greg, ‘and whilst you are gone I will phone Mary to say we have arrived safely and tell her about the return arrangements.’

He phoned her. She offered to drive Nick back to Salcombe if it would help. They exchanged phone kisses. Greg once again felt guilty about his deceit.

Back on board, over the meal, David told them he’d decided to tidy up a few loose ends with them, mainly because he had talked Nick into persuading Greg to take part in the day’s operation much against his (Greg’s) earlier decision to quit. ‘You’ll be pleased to know, Greg, that I have had to rule out Dartmouth as a future point of landing or departure. I will explain. I personally made a mistake. I had used the College pontoon twice before the Troag exercise. Me, of all people, should have known that using a location more than once was risky. We had a helper related to one of the crew that met Greg and me on that pontoon. It was the third time this excellent and trusted operative had assisted. What he didn’t know was that a remark he made to his wife about going to the College pontoon at night was overheard by his daughter and she almost certainly innocently quoted it out of context to someone at her place of work.’

‘Her place of work being . . . ?’ asked Greg.

‘She works in the kitchens at Dartmoor Prison. We believe she must have been overheard by a prisoner who we will call Ahmoud. He was known to be a member of an Islamic terrorist cell in London and was serving fifteen years for possession of bomb-making materials. We believe that Selby Somerfield-Smythe, whilst in Dartmoor, was recruited by Ahmoud.’

At the mention of the name Selby, Greg nearly had a fit.

‘Selby had no idea what he was letting himself in for,’ continued David. ‘He probably thought they were just a bit of low life like himself. But they knew that on release he would be running a courier business. After his discharge from prison he was given his first job by what he was led to believe were a London gang that shifted dubious goods around. He was also told to keep an eye on the College pontoon at night as they had reason to believe something illegal was going on there. He was bribed by promises of other work for his courier business.’

Greg had not told David of his encounter with Selby early one morning, but now that incident had been explained.

‘He used his friendship with Harry Curnow to gain an advantage point from the shipyard on the opposite bank. He thought he was looking for smuggled goods. He had been told to look for any suspicious activity along the west bank north of the town quay. We are guessing that this was as a result of our innocent grass making a remark in the Dartmoor kitchen, overheard by Ahmoud. We believe that on a visit to London he contacted this gang and tried to blackmail them into getting a cut of whatever they were up to. Little did he know that in reality they were a vicious lot planning explosions and killings. They meted out to him the only penalty they knew for anyone who threatened to expose them. We have pieced all this together in cooperation with the Metropolitan Police and enquiries I have made recently from the authorities at HMP Dartmoor.’

Greg and Nick were enjoying their food as they listened to David. On a need-to-know basis, Greg decided it was not necessary at this moment to tell David about his encounter with Selby in the yard on the morning of the Troag incident.

‘Selby’s death is still an open case,’ continued David. ‘I won’t be made privy to the extent of the exchange of information between the chief and the Met. However, you can see why we have decided Dartmouth is now a no-no. Now that we have arranged for it to be “leaked” to Ahmoud’s lot that Dartmouth operations are closed down with the death of Selby we can breathe a sigh of relief. Also the gang in London are far too busy dodging the Met after Selby’s murder to bother with, literally, a dead end. Closing down the Dartmouth facilities is sadly a fact, but the intelligence people find that feeding Ahmoud with misinformation is still of value. Any questions?’

‘Yes,’ said Greg. ‘I am in enough trouble with Mary over one perceived illegal act, of which I know I am innocent. You assured me, David, that the transport department does not do “kidnap, torture, or murder” when I told you my involvement was conditional upon the exclusion of those activities. Selby’s murder is unsolved. You have just given us your own explanation. Does your promise still hold good?’

‘It does. The three of us here have relied on the trust of each other. I promise you that is still the case. I know of no other explanation for Selby’s death.’

‘Thank you for that,’ said Greg. ‘I feel a whole lot better. I’d like you two to know that I have no intention of talking to Mary about any of this until after the baby is born, if at all. I am particularly pleased to hear the theory about Selby. I had a strong feeling he was a blackmailer long before I knew the reason for his imprisonment. He did not deserve the manner of his gruesome parting from this world but I have to admit I’m pleased he’s not around any more.’

‘A couple more points before I go,’ said David. ‘I am 99% sure that Alan Lucas will accept the offer I’ve had for L’Enterprise, Greg, which will put a few coppers into your new business. I like the agreement that we have and look forward to continuing to our mutual benefit. Tell Mary I apologise for a problem with the camera at the wedding party, which meant I failed to record most of the party, but I will let you have the opening few minutes of the happy couple on the big day. Finally, well done, you two. Have a good night, and of course be very careful what you say in front of Pete, our driver, in the morning. He’ll make himself known at eight o’clock. Finally, one of you will have to make yourself comfortable in the back of the van!’

With that, David departed. Greg and Nick cleared the supper things away. It had been a very long day. An early night was in order, but before they settled down Nick looked at Greg with a grin.

‘David doesn’t know about your “bits of trade”. I thought you were going to give the game away when he started to talk about Selby.’

‘Look,’ said Greg, also smirking, ‘you don’t know either, remember.’ Greg went on to explain to Nick how Selby got involved through Harry with the “bits of trade” deliveries to London. He suggested that Selby had added two and two to make five and tied in the College pontoon episode with the “bits of trade”.

‘Hence I found him spying around the yard one Sunday. Now that my skulduggery is out of the link, Harry is no longer involved, and dead men don’t talk, we are all in the clear. In the spirit of “need to know”, ignorance is bliss!’

Nick, barely suppressing laughter, tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. ‘When you come over to collect your Christmas order from Frank’s “wholesalers” perhaps we’ll have a chance to discuss future plans - I mean seafaring, of course. Goodnight, Greg.’

In the morning, as promised, Pete greeted them on the pontoon. There was no danger of conversing together within the hearing of Pete, as Nick, who lost the toss, had to make himself comfortable on top of their sleeping gear amongst the tools and parts in the back of the van.

They arrived at Curnow’s by lunchtime. Mary had made sandwiches for them and they recounted to her a slow, but uneventful, trip to Lymington, and passed on David’s best wishes for her and the baby.

They were saved from telling more untruths by Chris coming down to say hello to Nick and to tell them that the launch of the new patrol boat would be at the end of October. Greg wanted the opportunity to talk to Nick further, so it was just as well that Mary said she’d rather Greg drove Nick back to Salcombe.

On the journey Nick told Greg that his four dozen bottles of “proprietary” champagne would cost him two hundred and fifty pounds - almost half the shop price. He said that Frank would keep it in the cider house for him to pick up the week before Christmas. The stuff would have come from his “wholesalers”. Cash would be payable on collection.

Greg returned to Mary that afternoon with much on his conscience but little that disturbed him too much at that moment. He would square it all with her after the birth. She was so obviously happy with everything in their lives: the business, The Cabin, the baby, and their future. No way was he going to spoil it for her now.

Mary planned to be back at work within a couple of weeks after the birth, even if she was to work from The Cabin. They tested her babysitting apparatus, which worked perfectly. A microphone above the cot relayed the slightest sound over the phone extension to a speaker on the desk in the brokerage office. She had thrown out the old Atari computer and replaced it with the latest IBM desktop model. They were now able to email as well as fax, which greatly improved their communications ability.

Mary and Brian Hope’s secretary at QC started talking to each other about domain names, the Internet, protocols and megabits - a language that Greg decided he would leave to Mary. As Mary got nearer her time and more tired, Greg would drive her on their Wednesday days off to the local surgery or the clinic in Torquay for regular check-ups.

At the end of October the second patrol boat was completed by Curnow’s. There followed five days of sea trials and adjustments with the same crew from the Gulf, but this time Sheikh Samad did not attend himself. Either Chris or Bill Fossett was on board each time the boat went to sea. Once again, after signing off, she was to be shipped as deck cargo from Southampton.

‘There goes one baby,’ said Mary as they watched the patrol boat slip her moorings bound for Southampton, ‘and here comes another.’

Greg gave Mary a quizzical look. She responded with a vigorous nod of her head.

They had prepared for this moment. Flossie was called for emergency telephone duty in the office so that Greg could take Mary to Torbay Hospital. She had packed her bag ready but insisted on phoning the hospital herself to discuss with them her symptoms and ask whether she should come in right away. The answer was in the affirmative.

She was in the maternity ward within the hour. Greg, fussing around like a headless chicken, was dismissed by Mary. She wanted to do this thing herself. She told him she’d get them to call him when she was ready. Greg gave her a hug and a kiss as she sat on the side of the bed.

‘God bless you, my lovely Mary.’

‘God bless all three of us,’ replied Mary.

She looked anxiously at the nurse who was unpacking her things.

‘We’ll look after her, Mr Norfield. I have a feeling this birth will go well,’ she said with a smile.

Greg left the ward, blowing Mary kisses as he went. Secretly he was glad to leave the hospital. His ex-wife had insisted that he was present at the birth of their first child. He had felt utterly useless, and before the baby had appeared she had shouted at him to go away.

This time he was more comfortable going back to the office, where various people kept popping in to ask if there was any news. At the end of the day Greg put the phone through to The Cabin and got on with his meal. He waited until nine o’clock that evening, seven hours after taking her in, before he phoned the hospital. Their response was to tell him to go to bed and phone in the morning - all was proceeding normally.

Greg was woken by the phone at seven in the morning. He was surprised that he had slept so well.

‘It’s a boy, Mr Norfield,’ said the voice. ‘You may come whenever you wish. Your wife asked us not to disturb you until now.’

Greg looked down at Alexander Gregory Norfield in his arms. He had asked the nurse fearfully if he might take him from the cot beside Mary’s bed. With tears in his eyes he looked at Mary. She was so obviously tired, but happy.

‘You clever, clever girl, you.’

‘Give me a little while and I’ll do it again if you like.’

The nurse took the baby from Greg and assured him that all was well. Mary would be moved to the general ward and, subject to conditions at their home, she could return with the child within a few days.

That is what happened.

After Mary’s return from hospital Flossie turned out to be brilliant. She was like a daughter to them. Nothing was too much trouble. The work at Devon Yachts was not interrupted. When she wasn’t taking over the phone calls whilst Greg was out and about, Flossie was at The Cabin offering any help that Mary wanted. She adored the baby. She was overjoyed when Mary asked her to be another godmother, along with Rosemary Curnow.

***

The christening took place in the College chapel at the end of November. Mary wore her father’s cross around her neck on a plain silver chain that Greg had bought her as a “mum’s present”. In a simple ceremony, before the baptism, the chaplain conducted a short service to bless their marriage.

Alexander Norfield, wearing the white embroidered cotton christening robe worn by his mother thirty-five years earlier, was dutifully noisy at the font as the priest made the sign of the cross on his forehead. A quiet remark from Chris about another Norfield who could kick up a fuss when he wanted went unheard - except by Greg, for whom it was intended. The photographer from the local paper did his stuff outside the chapel.

They all managed to squeeze into The Cabin. The Curnows (including Harry), Flossie, Frank, Joan and Robbie Trehairne, and Nick Wroughton were all there. Mary fed Alexander, and after laying him contentedly down in his cot in “Alex’s Room” (it said so on the door) she joined them in the saloon.

‘I did not know’, said Greg, ‘just how happy a man could be until this day. A lovely wife, good friends, a wonderful home and job, and now a son. I truly count my blessings. Thank you all.’ He embraced Mary with both arms as they kissed. ‘You are gorgeous,’ he said.

‘Oh my, I nearly forgot,’ said Frank. ‘Hang on a minute, folks.’

He left The Cabin, went to his car outside and came back carrying a cool box which revealed three bottles of champagne packed in ice.

‘Got to wet the baby’s head with something stronger than holy water!’

Mary scrambled for all the glasses they were able to muster as Frank popped the cork.

“Alexander,” they cried as glasses were raised and Mary was swamped with hugs and kisses.

As if on cue, a baby’s cry was heard from a little speaker mounted in a corner of the ceiling. Most of the assembled company shook their heads in wonder as Greg went along to the baby’s room and Mary told them all about her system. She could hear practically every movement of the child from either there in the saloon, their bedroom, or the office across the way.

She went on to tell them that the telephone engineer, who installed it all in his spare time, was going to extend it so that they could have short-distance handsets operating on the amateur waveband. This meant either of them could keep watch wherever they were on site.

Greg returned to witness more heads shaking in wonder.

Nick said out aloud, ‘If I were you, Greg, I should watch your step very carefully. You married someone with a propensity for surveillance!’

Many a true word is said in jest, thought Greg as Frank popped another cork.

The snacks they had prepared were produced. In good company it did not take long before they had drained the last of the champagne. It was Joan Trehairne who interrupted the merrymaking to remind them that perhaps it might be time to leave the happy couple and their offspring. Goodbyes and hugs were exchanged. Frank winked at Greg as he left and said loudly, making sure he was within Mary’s hearing, ‘I got the champagne from my wholesalers, Greg. It was very reasonably priced. If you would ever like some, just ask.’

‘How did I ever find a pal like you, Frank?’

And so it came about that Greg drove to Salcombe a week before Christmas to collect his gift for the yard workers. Mary had produced, on her new computer, forty labels, which she attached to forty gift bottle-bags. The label said simply, “Thanks for your friendship. Merry Christmas from Mary, Greg, and Alexander.”

Chris saw to it that everyone received their bottle. That was on the Monday. On Wednesday afternoon before locking the gates for the start of the holiday Bill Fossett went to the Devon Yachts office. He placed on the desk in front of Greg a little hand-carved wooden model of the yard’s workboat. Along one side under the gunwale burnt into the wood was the message “Curnow Shipmates Wish You Well” and on the transom “HMS Bubbly”.

Mary’s progress had been remarkable. Within three weeks of the birth she was putting in a few hours each day in the office, and now regularly took over the incoming calls that were switched to The Cabin when Greg was out and about. They had a bell-push beside the office door and a notice that invited visitors to press if the door was closed. Flossie was on the receiving end of this facility and would call Greg or Mary or go down herself.

The few weeks before Christmas had been busy, both for the yard and for the brokerage. Chris and Greg decided that they would close both businesses on Christmas Eve and not reopen until the 5th of January because both Christmas Day and New Year’s Day fell on a Thursday. Greg was looking forward to the long break and to making a start on Amity’s annual maintenance.