The cottage was cheerful and warm. Hamish and Anne sat one on each side of the fireplace, where sweet-smelling cherrywood logs were blazing. For all the cosiness, however, Henry sensed an atmosphere of strain as they came in. Anne’s mouth was set in mutinous lines, and she looked as though she had been crying. Hamish seemed larger, darker and more overpowering than ever, and there was no laughter in his eyes.
Both of them got slowly to their feet as the visitors came in. There was a curious air of defiance in their attitude, as if they had been expecting something other than a friendly call.
/> “So there you are,” said Henry, with slightly forced brightness. “We missed you at the Bush and guessed you’d be here.”
Hamish seemed to relax a little. “Come in and have a drink,” he said.
When they were all comfortably seated and furnished with alcohol, Alastair said, “Well, there’s one born every minute, Hamish. Henry wants to try his hand at night sailing, so we’re going up to the Deben tonight.”
Hamish, who had been in the act of raising his glass to his lips, stopped abruptly and sat very still for a moment. Then he took a long drink, and said, “Hardly seems an ideal evening for it.”
“We all want to go,” said Rosemary. “I just want to get away from Berrybridge, myself. I can’t bear sitting here doing nothing, when...” She shivered slightly, although the room was warm.
“I thought we were all suspects, and not supposed to leave the place,” said Anne, in her sweet, husky voice. “But of course, since you’ll have the law itself on board with you, I suppose...”
“I haven’t told anybody not to leave,” said Henry. “Do you want to go back to London? Nobody’s stopping you.”
Hamish and Anne exchanged the briefest of glances. Then Anne said, “Oh, Henry. Don’t take it personally. I’m quite happy where I am.”
“Good,” said Henry. “Well, wish us luck. It’s going to be a cold, clammy trip, but I think it’ll do us all good.”
Suddenly, Hamish said, “Can I come with you?”
“Sorry, old man.” Alastair spoke quickly and definitely. “There’s really not room for more than four.”
“Suppose it blows up into a gale,” said Hamish. He was not asking a question, but stating a fact.
Alastair shrugged. “I don’t think it will,” he said.
“You never know. The wind’s getting up steadily, and the glass is dropping.” Hamish sounded worried.
“It’s not all that far, after all,” said Rosemary. “We should be in the Deben by ten.”
“If we start now.” Alastair downed his drink and stood up. “Come on then. All aboard that’s going aboard.” He turned to Anne, who was nursing her big tumbler thoughtfully. “Goodbye, Anne,” he said.
Anne looked at him steadily for a moment. Then she said gravely, “Goodbye, Alastair.”
Henry and Emmy were already on their feet.
“Shall we see you tomorrow?” Hamish asked.
For a moment, nobody answered. Tomorrow seemed a thousand years away, a new world, not to be reckoned with, not even to be dreamed about. It was Emmy who recovered first, and said, warmly and naturally, “I hope so, Hamish. I expect we’ll be back.”
Hamish came outside with them onto the terrace which overlooked the grey river. Outside, he said, tentatively, “About Colin. What’s—”
“Don’t worry,” said Henry. “It’s all under control.”
Hamish gave him a short, unamused look. “I hope so,” he said. “Well—goodnight. Good luck.”
As they walked along the foreshore back to the dinghy, they could see Hamish’s massive figure silhouetted against the light from the open doorway. They could not see his face.
The breeze from the north had freshened considerably by the time that Ariadne slipped her moorings and began to run downstream. Ashore, Henry could see lighted windows in the gathering dusk, and had the impression of being watched by secret eyes. As they came within sight of Steep Hill Sands, already gleaming whitely as the tide retreated, a single light—a single eye—glowed from the ghostly façade of Berry Hall. Henry had the curious impression of a composite sigh of relief going up from the unhappy landscape. A breathing space. He dismissed this as wishful thinking. Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps this whole cold, uncomfortable adventure would end in a dismal and fruitless vigil. Heaven knew, he had made enough mistakes already. If he had been cleverer, Colin might be alive now. Depression set in, with the first drops of chilling rain. Swiftly and silently, Ariadne ploughed her way downstream, her great white sails spread like swans’ wings. Henry glanced miserably at Alastair, and was surprised to see that the latter was smiling.
“Lovely sail,” said Alastair.
Rosemary came up from below with mugs of hot soup. “This is fun,” she said. “I mean, the whole situation is awful, but it is fun all the same. Have some soup, Henry.”
“Thank you,” said Henry, from his heart. Everything suddenly seemed more reasonable and more exhilarating. He realized gratefully that the rain was failing to penetrate the thick black oilskin he was wearing, and the soup brought a reassuring glow.
“Whatever you do, don’t get cold,” Rosemary admonished him. “It’s hellishly difficult to warm up again once you’re chilled through. Put on an extra sweater before you think you need it.”
She grinned, and retreated into the golden-lit haven of the cabin.
The dusk was deepening fast as Ariadne swung round Steep Hill Point. “Harden sheets,” called Alastair. Henry pulled on the jib sheet as the boat swung broadside on to the wind. At once, she heeled over smartly, and tossed up a spurt of spray over her bows, which caught Henry neatly in the back of the neck.
Alastair was watching his course like a hawk. After some time, he said, “We’re out of sight of everyone by now. O.K. to go in and anchor?”
“Fine,” said Henry. The water had trickled down under his oilskin, making his shirt cling clammily to his back, but he was aware of a rising sense of excitement. “Any time you like.”
“Harden in a bit more, then, and watch out down below.”
As Ariadne put her nose to windward, she leant over with a vengeance. From the cabin, Rosemary swore as a badly stowed saucepan fell to the floor with a tinny crash. Lee rail under, Ariadne roared towards the shore. Great sheets of water broke over her bows, but she settled down happily enough on her new course, bucking and buffetting into the powerful breeze and riding the short seas with surprising ease.
“Come and take her, Rosemary,” called Alastair above the scream of the wind. “I’ll let go the anchor.”
Rosemary climbed up from below.
“What shall I do?” yelled Henry, feeling useless.
“Get below and out of the way,” Rosemary called back gaily. “O.K., darling. Got her.”
Obediently, Henry went below. Emmy was doing her best to sit on one of the bunks, which now lurched at a frightening angle. She looked slightly green, but she said bravely, “Isn’t this fun?”
Henry grunted noncommittally. It was, in his view, far from fun.
Then there was a yell from Alastair, a wild thrashing of sails and the boat steadied herself onto an even keel. From outside, the Bensons’ voices came indistinctly. “Down main!” “Wait till I get the gallows up!” “Hurry up, blast you, woman!” “O.K. now. Let her go!” “Smother it, for God’s sake. Where are the tyers?” “Right. Down jib!”
And then, suddenly, a blissful silence except for the singing of the wind in the shrouds. Rosemary and Alastair, drenched and dishevelled, came stumbling down the companionway and into the cabin.
“Well,” said Alastair, “here we are. Safely anchored. But I don’t want to stay here any longer than I must. It’s an exposed position and the wind’s freshening all the time.”