'How do you mean?'
'Well, you bin there, when you was looking for a boat that spring. You know wot it's like there, an' a couple of kids, no proper man to control them. They broke into a yacht moored back of the Horse Sand and got at the drink locker. No harm done, but later they had a go at the RAF mess over at Bawdsey — for a lark they said. People remember that sort of thing.'
I didn't see what he was getting at. 'What's that got to do with arms-running?' I asked. 'You said something about arms-running.'
That's right. But we didn't know about that at the time, did we? There was just a lot of rumours flying about on account of strangers poking around in the mud at the entrance to the King's Fleet. Then, after those terrorist attacks on police stations at Liverpool and Glasgow, and on that court in Clerkenwell, the papers were full of it. This Lieutenant Jones, he makes a statement, about how he'd been bird-watching an' had seen them unloading the arms at the King's Fleet, about half a mile inside the Deben mouth. It was an IRA gun run, you see, and they caught him watching 'em from the high bank of the river as they landed the stuff. That's how he come to be on the buoy. Didn't shoot him; instead, they threw him overboard out beyond the Deben bar, so he'd drown and it would look like an accident.'
He shook his head slightly, muttering to himself: 'Funny that — him not wanting to talk to me.' And then he brightened. 'Mebbe they sacked 'im. That'd account for it. There was a swarm of investorigaty journalists digging into his background, and some of the stories they ran…' He gave a little shrug and turned away. 'Well, better get on if we're ever goin' ter finish this job.' And without another word he went back to the wheelhouse and disappeared below.
Was that it? Was he now into some smuggling racket, having been forced to resign his commission? All those questions about coves and inlets… I was wondering about him as I drove home along the waterfront, wondering whether I would be able to get anything out of him during the evening.
CHAPTER TWO
He was punctual, of course, the bell of the chandlery sounding virtually on the dot of 20.30. I called down to him to come up, and introducing him to Soo, I said, 'Is it Mr Lloyd Jones or do you have anything in the way of a rank?'
'Gareth Lloyd Jones will do,' he said, smiling and taking Soo's outstretched hand. Some sort of a spark must have passed between them even then, her cheeks suddenly flushed and a bright flash of excitement in those dark eyes of hers as she said, 'I think you'll enjoy this evening. Manuela and her friends have done a great job of the preparations.' But I didn't take note of it at the time, still thinking about the way he had parried my question. If my suspicions were correct I wasn't at all sure I wanted to be seen entertaining a man who might land himself in trouble.
Petra was usually late and that evening was no exception. She was a large-boned girl with a freckled face and wide mouth that always seemed to be full of teeth. But her real attraction was her vitality. She came thundering up the stairs, that broad grin on her face and breathless with apologies. 'Sorry. Found I'd ripped my pants dancing the other evening and had to change.' She saw Lloyd Jones and stopped. 'I'm Petra Callis.' She held out her hand.
'Gareth Lloyd Jones.' And then, as I was getting her a drink, I heard her say, 'Soo will have told you what I'm up to, digging about in megalithic holes. I live out there on Bloody Island, a leaky tent among the ruins.' She jerked her head towards the window. Then she asked with blatant curiosity, 'What's your line of country? Yachts, I suppose, or are you a villa man?'
'No, neither.'
But Petra wasn't the sort of girl to be put off like that. She opened her mouth wide and laughed. 'Well, come on — what do you do? Or is it something mysterious that we don't talk about?'
I glanced back over my shoulder to see Lloyd Jones staring at her, a shut look on his face, mouth half-open and his eyes wide as though in a state of shock at the blatantness of her curiosity. Then he smiled, a surprisingly charming smile as he forced himself to relax. 'Nothing mysterious about it. I'm a Navy officer.'
As I passed Petra her gin and tonic Soo was asking him what branch of the Navy. 'Exec,' he replied, and she picked that up immediately. 'So was my father. Came up through the lower deck.' A moment later I heard the word Ganges mentioned.
'HMS Ganges?' I asked. 'On Shotley Point just north of Harwich. Is that the school you were referring to this morning, the one you and Evans were at?' And when he nodded, I said, 'It's called Eurosport Village now, or was when I was last there. I know it quite well. There's a commercial range and I used to practise there before going on to Bisley for the Meeting.'
'These cups, they're for shooting then, are they?' He couldn't help noticing them. He was standing right next to the pinewood cabinet I had purchased to house them and Gloria, our help, was a determined silver polisher. We talked about Shotley for a moment, then Soo butted in again, asking him how it had been when he was being trained there. From that they progressed to Malta. It was her mother who was Maltese. Her father had been a naval officer posted to Malta back in the days when there was a C-in-C Med and an old frigate fitted out as the Commander-in-Chief's yacht for showing the flag and entertaining. He had been the Navigating Officer on board and though she had been far too young to remember anything about it, she was always ready to talk of the parties he had described on the open lamplit deck.
It was past nine before we finally left, and though it was barely a mile away, by the time we had found a place to park the car and had walked through the quarry, somebody had already lit the bonfire. The effect was magic, the flames lighting the great square stone buttresses, flickering over the lofty limestone roof, shadows dancing on the moonlit cliffs, so that the whole effect was like some wild biblical scene. In the great rectangular cavern itself the dirt base of it had been levelled off to provide a makeshift dance floor round which chairs had been placed and trestle tables bright with cloths and cutlery and bottles of wine.
The band began to play just as we found our table. Manuela came over, and, while Soo was introducing Lloyd Jones, Petra and I were momentarily on our own. 'You wanted to talk to me,' I said.
'Did I?' Her eyes were on the movement of people towards the dance floor, her foot tapping, her body moving to the beat of the music.
'Now, what have you discovered?' I asked her. 'Another of those hypostilic chambers or is it an underground temple to the Earth Mother like that place in Malta?'
The Hypogeum?' She shook her head. 'No, nothing like that. Just a charcoal drawing. But it could be a lot older. I've only seen part of it. I don't know whether it represents a deer, a horse, a bison or a mammoth. I don't know what it is. A woolly rhinoceros perhaps.' She gripped hold of my arm. 'Come on, let's dance. I'll settle for a woolly rhinoceros and tell you the rest while we're dancing.'
But she couldn't tell me much. 'You'll have to see it for yourself. I think it's early man — cave-dwelling man — but of course I don't know. Not yet.'
'Then why consult me? I don't know the difference between the drawings of early man and a potholer's graffiti.'
She hesitated, then said, 'Well, it's not just that I've unearthed what looks like a section of a cave painting, it's the fact that people have been digging in that cave.'