“I haven’t got any money,” she confessed, “and Molly’s spent almost all her savings.”
“I’ve got money,” I said very simply, because suddenly life had become extremely simple. Nicole was being held prisoner by a man who was trying to forge his own insane Utopia. I would find that man’s hiding place and I would free my daughter. It would take money, but I had money, and I would do anything to get my daughter back.
I was going hunting.
“You’ve done what?” David asked me when I told him the results of my American visit.
“I’ve hired an investigator.”
“Oh, good God! You’ve hired someone! To do what?”
“To find Nicole, of course.”
“Good God!” At first I thought David was upset because of my profligacy, but then I realized he was frightened of my obsession with Nicole, expecting it to end in crippling disappointment. “Tell me, for God’s sake!”
I told him about Jackie Potten, and the telling took all the way from Heathrow Airport to the coast where, before taking me home, David stopped for lunch at the Stave and Anchor. We sat at our usual table by the fire, where I took pleasure in a pint of decent-tasting beer and David took an equal pleasure in mocking me. “So! Let us celebrate your achievements, Tim. You have permitted some American girl to fleece you of sixteen hundred pounds. I do applaud you, Tim, I really do.”
It was lunchtime, but a depression that had brought a gale of wind and rain up the channel had also fetched a mass of clouds that made the pub windows as dark as evening. The lights were on in the bar where a group of idle fisherman amused themselves by listening to our conversation. I tried to defend myself against David’s scorn. “Jackie Potten is a very enterprising reporter,” I insisted with as much dignity as my tiredness would allow. “That’s what I like about the Americans. They’re so full of enthusiasm! They’re not like us.”
“You mean they don’t roam the world giving away their wealth to passing females?” David inquired robustly. “Good God, Tim, the trollop must have thought Christmas had arrived early! She must think you are the greatest fool in Christendom! You never did have any sense of financial responsibility.”
“I am merely subsidizing Jackie’s investigations,” I insisted.
“Oh, dear Lord,” my brother said in despair. He scratched a match on the stone of the hearth, then laboriously lit his pipe as he prepared his next broadside. “You remind me of Tuppy Hargreaves. Do you remember Tuppy? He had that very rich parish in Dorset, and a rather grand wife, but he abandoned them both to run away with a girl young enough to be his granddaughter, and in no time at all the poor sod was wearing a wig and gobbling down vitamins and monkey-gland extract. He died of a heart attack in Bognor Regis, as I recall, and the floozie drove off with an Italian hairdresser in Tuppy’s Wolseley. I took the cremation service in some ghastly place near Southampton. They only paid me two pounds, I remember. Two measly pounds! No doubt a similar fate awaits you, Tim, with this Jackie creature.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.
“It is not me being ridiculous,” David said very grandly, then gave me a most suspicious glance. “Was this child beautiful? Did she bat false eyelashes at you, is that it?”
“I am merely paying for Jackie to continue her investigation of Genesis.”
“Her investigation of gullibility!” David pounced gleefully. “Good God, Tim, how gullible can a grown man be? This Miss Potten presents you with a few tattered assumptions about the Genesis community and you reward her with the balance of monies in your pocket, barely leaving yourself enough to buy a pint of ale! Do you really believe she’ll travel to Germany on your behalf?” David, despite his calling, had little faith in humankind. “Not that we can do much about the girl now,” he went on, “you’re home, the damage is done, so now you can do some proper work.”
“What does that mean?” I asked suspiciously.
“It means that your boatyard, now that you’ve had your fling, could profit from a firm managerial touch.” David usually kept an eye on the yard while I was away. “Not that Billy doesn’t do his best,” he added hastily, “because he does, but he hasn’t got the swiftest brain I’ve ever encountered in a parishioner, and he’s a hopeless salesman. And that’s what you need, Tim, a salesman! You must sell some of the yard’s inventory before you entirely run out of space! You won’t believe this, but Tort-au-Citron is back on the market. God knows what that lawyer thought he was playing at when he bought her, but you’ve got her back, and doubtless you’ll have to haul her out of the water and let her clutter up the yard again.”
“Stormchild is for sale again?” I asked in mild astonishment.
“Stormchild, yes, or Tort-au-Citron,” David confirmed. “It seems young Miller rather overplayed his hand in buying the boat, and his partners are now understandably keen to get the brute off their books. I warned them that in today’s market it won’t sell quickly, but if you can find a buyer, Tim, I think they’ll be willing to drop their price pretty savagely. In fact I think they’ll take a loss just to put the whole embarrassing exercise behind them.”
“Maybe they’ll go as low as ninety-five?” I wondered.
“Good Lord, no!” David seemed offended. “You’ll have to ask a higher price than that! At least a hundred and ten thousand! Remember, Tim, you’re on a broker’s percentage, and they’re lawyers! In the words of the good Lord himself, screw the wretches till they squeal.”
“Ninety-five,” I said again, “because I’ve already got a buyer lined up.”
David stared at me with a gratifying amazement. “You do?”
“Yes,” I said, “me.”
That stopped David cold. He gazed at me for a few seconds over the rim of his glass, took a long swallow of ale, then momentarily closed his eyes. “I could have sworn you said you intended to purchase Tort-au-Citron for yourself. Please inform me that I misheard.”
Instead of answering I took our glasses to the bar and had them refilled. When I carried the pints back to the table I confirmed David’s worst suspicions. “I’ve decided to sell the house,” I said, “put a sales manager into the yard, and buy Stormchild.” I was damned if I would go to sea in a boat named after some legal jest. She would have her old name back. “With any luck I’ll be away before Christmas. Cheers.” I raised my glass to David.
“Go and see Doc Stilgoe and have him prescribe you a nerve tonic,” my brother advised.
I smiled. “Truly, David, I’ve had time to think about my life, and I don’t want it to trickle on like it is. Besides, I was never any damned good at running the business; Joanna was always the one who did the books, and I’m a much better sailor than I am a salesman, so I’ll buy Stormchild, then go looking for Nicole.”
“You can’t just disappear!” David exploded at me.
“Why ever not? Nicole did.”
“She was young! She was a fool! She was irresponsible!”
“And I’m alone,” I said, “and what responsibilities do I have?”
“You have responsibilities to Nicole, for a start,” David said trenchantly. “If the silly girl ever does decide to come home, then it’s going to be mighty difficult for her if home is halfway round the globe and still moving!”
“Nickel’s not coming home, David. None of the Genesis community has ever left von Rellsteb, at least not since he went into hiding. Maybe some of his followers have tried to escape, but he’s made damn sure that none get away to tell any tales.”