Even through his anxiety Graham felt a little spurt of excitement.
‘Well, the blast tosses the dinghy back just like it was a balloon and that’s what saves me. It seems I keep hanging on to a bit of rope on the dinghy’s side and, God, I go through the water upside down, arse over tit, don’t know where I am. When I come to, I’m beside the dinghy and that’s upside down and deflating fast, and I’m still hanging on to this bit of rope.’
‘What about Tara’s Dream?’
Terry Sworder would not have his narrative hurried. ‘And I look across the waves and there I see this great column of flame on the water, and black smoke pouring out above it. There’s other boats rushing there to help, but Tara’s Dream burnt down to the waterline before anyone can do anything.
Then there’s this great hiss and a load of steam and what-have-you. And down she goes.’
‘The weight of the keel. .’
‘That’s it. And whatever’s left of Bob gone down with it.’
‘Yes.’ Well, at least it had worked. There was comfort in that. And not much had been left for forensic examination — also a bonus. But there remained a grave danger to Graham’s safety, a danger that the accident’s witness could unwittingly have unleashed in his account to the police.
Graham shook his head. ‘It’s terrible, really terrible.’ Time for the big question. ‘How do the police reckon it happened?’
‘Well, it was the Calor Gas of course that went up. Must’ve leaked. The police don’t reckon Bob would have left it on by mistake. He was too careful for that. Anyway, he hadn’t been on the boat for a couple of weeks, and most of the gas would probably have leaked out and dispersed in that time if it had been left on.’
‘Oh?’ Graham had difficulty keeping the tension out of his voice.
‘No, what they reckon happened was that the boy from the boatyard who changed the cylinder, he left it on.’
Another ‘Oh’, equally non-committal.
‘Apparently, Bob gets down there so rarely, so pushed for time usually, that he gets the boatyard to do all that routine stuff, so’s the boat’s ready to sail when he wants it, see. And this poor sod who changed the cylinder must’ve left it turned on. Only put in last Friday, so just nice time to build up a really explosive mixture of gas and air.’
Graham could hardly believe how miraculously everything had worked to his advantage. One detail remained, though, one detail that could either destroy him or free him for life.
‘But what on earth sparked it off? Surely there must have been a flame or something to. .?’
Terry Sworder hung his head. ‘This is where I feel really shitty, Graham. You know, like guilty. Just when we were in the dinghy on the way out, I gave him one.’
‘One what?’ ‘One of these.’ Terry gestured with the little cigar in his hand. ‘He said, no, not so early in the morning, and I said go on and he. . well. .’
The young man shook his head. Perhaps it was as well that he wasn’t looking and didn’t see the blaze of joy in his colleague’s eye.
Graham could hardly contain himself. He had won; everything was on his side; now he was truly invincible.
But he controlled his exhilaration. He too shook his head and murmured, ‘Terrible business.’
Then he looked firmly at the young computer expert.
‘Still, life has to go on. Work in particular has to go on. You know that Human Resources survey you were doing for Robert. .’
‘Yes. The model for — ’
‘When were you reckoning to finish?’
‘I don’t know. . Ten days. .? Mind you, now Bob’s not around, I don’t know whether — ’
‘I’d like it by the end of this week,’ said the Assistant Head of Personnel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was just under a fortnight till George Brewer was finally to leave, but Graham Marshall could do a lot in a fortnight. All the old sporting imagery reasserted itself. He felt he was in peak condition, had just put in another superlative performance and was equal to any new challenge that might be thrown at him.
His first move was to be nice to Terry Sworder. Rather than treating the young man like some boffin unfit for civilised society, as he had done in the past, Graham started to take an interest, and even had the humility to let Terry show off some of his beloved computers. Graham understood little, but he was properly appreciative and afterwards took his guide to the company bar, where he was introduced to more of the staff who had risen on computer skills. He proved to them to be affable and properly impatient of the company’s laggardly approach to the new technology.
At the same time Graham started to be less nice to George Brewer. He had never doubted his influence over the older man, but always previously had humoured George’s rambles through his early days in the company, problems with The Times crossword and increasingly maudlin melancholia. Now he showed less patience, and was often short to the point of brusqueness.
He also began to disparage his retiring boss behind his back, in the canteen, or the company bar, or round the office. This he did with some subtlety. He knew a complete volte-face would be suspect and so only hinted his criticisms. He gave the impression of a man who had gone along with his superior’s ideas from a misplaced sense of loyalty, but whose mask, as that superior’s departure grew more imminent, was beginning to crack. Though it hurt him to disagree with George, he really didn’t feel he could hold back his real views much longer.
The most public difference between the two came at another of George Brewer’s farewell drinks parties. This one was set up to coincide with the visit of some of the company’s top brass from the Middle East. Among these were a couple of old mates of George’s and once again the conviviality of the occasion lifted him out of his habitual depression.
‘God, when I think back to how we started. .’ He was addressing a massively fat red-faced man in a blazer, and Graham stood by his side. ‘All very ad hoc, wasn’t it? If any calculations needed doing, did them on the back of an envelope, or a Craven ‘A’ packet or whatever was to hand. None of these bloody calculators and computers and. . dear, oh dear. Mind you, we didn’t often get the answers wrong, did we?’
With a guffaw, the fat man agreed that they didn’t.
‘Don’t see the need for it all myself,’ George continued.
‘Technology for its own sake, I call it. Glad I’m getting out before the bloody government makes understanding it compulsory!’
This merited another guffaw from both of them, though George’s was muted by the mention of his impending departure. He picked himself out of the trough by turning to Graham for support. ‘I’ve been lucky, though, having an assistant who thought the same as me.’
‘Not about everything, George,’ Graham interposed gently.
‘No, no, of course not. Had our disagreements, but in outline. . thought on the same lines. Neither of us had a lot of time for the Space Invaders, eh?’
‘Well, I know you didn’t, George, but I always rather thought you underestimated the contribution computer science could make to our business.’
George just stared, his mind not working fast enough to catch up with this new development.
‘Sorry, George, but since you raise the subject, I’m afraid I’ve always found your attitude rather head-in-the-sand. I think if we’d put more reliance on computers a few years earlier, you’d be leaving a much more efficient Department.’
There was a silence. It had been said quietly, but enough people had heard. Graham gave a little diffident smile. ‘Sorry,’ he lied, ‘but you did ask.’
George looked pained and confused. To cover his embarrassment he reached in his pockets for another of his little cigarettes. He put it in his mouth and blinked around for a light.
Graham’s hand was instinctively in his pocket, but he was relieved not to find his lighter there. Must have mislaid it. Good. His toadying to George Brewer was at an end.