“Got it,” I said. “What about the money?”
Micky closed his eyes in mock despair. “God, you’re a berk, Nick.
You take the ruddy money! It’s proof!” He drained his whisky. “Are you ready for battle, my son?”
“I’m ready.”
“To war, then. And stop worrying. Nothing can go wrong.” He finished my whisky then took himself across the bar. I waited nervously. The pub slowly filled, mostly with hikers who shook water from their bright capes as they came through the door. It had begun to rain, though not heavily.
I switched from whisky to beer. I did not want to fuddle my wits, not with so much at stake. If I was successful this evening I would stop an obsessed millionaire from pulling thousands of jobs out of Britain. I would start a scandal in the newspapers. I would also drive Angela away from me, because I knew she would never forgive me for bringing Bannister’s name into the story. I had so often, and often unjustly, accused her of dishonesty, now she would say that I had been dishonest. She would say that I should have told her everything, and perhaps she was right.
But I was going to sea anyway, and that always meant an abandonment of loves left behind. I would render Kassouli’s threats impotent, then I would leave Bannister to make his attempt on the St Pierre and Angela to her ambitions. After tonight I would be free, and Sycorax and I would go to where the wind willed us.
I waited.
“Hi!” After Angela’s slender paleness, Jill-Beth looked tanned and healthy; a glowing tribute to vitamin tablets, exercise and native enthusiasm. I wondered why Americans were so often enthusiastic while we were so often drab. She was wearing a blue shirt, tight jeans and cowboy boots, as if she had expected a rodeo. She carried a raincoat and a handbag over her arm. She stooped to offer me a kiss, then sensed from my reaction that such a gesture was inappropriate. Instead she sat next to me. “How are you?” she asked. Her back was towards Micky who offered me a surreptitious thumbs-up to indicate that he could hear her through the concealed microphone.
“You’d like a beer?” I asked.
She shook her head. “How about going for a walk?”
“In this?” I gestured at the rain that was now blurring the window panes.
“I thought you were a soldier! Are you frightened of rain?” I was frightened of getting out of range of Micky’s radio, but Jill-Beth would not take a refusal, so I followed her on to the road where she pulled on the raincoat and tied a scarf over her hair. “Yassir says hi.”
“Great.”
She seemed not to notice my lack of enthusiasm; instead she opened the handbag and showed its contents to me. “One hundred thousand dollars, Nick. Tax-free.”
I stared at the tightly wadded notes, each wad bound in cello-phane. I’d never seen so much money in my life, but it didn’t seem real. I tried to look impressed, but in truth I found the situation ludicrous. Did Jill-Beth really believe I could be bought?
“It’s all yours.” She closed the bag. The rain was getting harder, but she seemed not to notice it as we crossed the bridge and headed towards Bellever Forest. I dared not look behind in case Jill-Beth also turned and saw Micky Harding’s ungainly figure following us.
My jacket was getting soaked and I hoped the microphone was not affected by damp. “Do we really have to walk in this muck?” I asked.
“We really do.” She said it very casually, then frowned with a sudden and genuine concern. “Are you hurting? Is that it?”
“A wee bit.”
She shrugged and took my arm, as though to help me walk. “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t abide all that cigarette smoke in the pub.” She glanced up at the sky which was threatening an even heavier downpour. “Perhaps we’d better get into cover?” She led me into the pines of Bellever. The rain was too new to have dripped through the thick cover of needles and we walked in comparative dryness. I once heard a footfall behind us and knew that Micky had kept up. He’d be silently cursing me for dragging him out of the pub, but his sacrifice was small in comparison to the rewards that this evening would give him.
Jill-Beth let go of my arm and leaned against a tree trunk. For a moment neither of us spoke. I was awkward, and her self-assurance seemed strained. She offered me a quick smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Nick.”
“Is it?”
“You’re being hostile.”
She pronounced the word as ‘hostel’, and sounded so hurt that I could not resist smiling. “I’m not being hostile, it’s just that my back’s hurting.”
“You should see a doctor.”
“I did. She couldn’t help.”
“Then see an American doctor.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“They are expensive bastards,” she admitted.
We were both being wary, and I supposed that if I really was being
‘hostel’ then I was risking all the hard work that Micky had put into this meeting. I was here to convince this girl that I would help her, however reluctantly, and so I forced another smile. “Are you here to get me wet, or rich?”
She smiled back. “Does that mean you’re going to help us, Nick?” I was hopeless at telling lies, and did not think that an outright statement of compliance would be convincing. I shrugged, then began pacing beneath the trees as I spoke. “I don’t know, Jill-Beth.
I just don’t share your conviction that Bannister’s guilty. That worries me. I don’t like him, but I’m not sure that’s sufficient grounds for ruining his chances of the St Pierre.” I was making noises to cover my nervousness, then I realized that by pacing up and down I was constantly turning the microphone away from Jill-Beth. Not that she was saying much, except the odd acknowledgement, but I stopped and faced her.
She sighed, as though exasperated by my havering. “All you have to do, Nick, is sail on Bannister’s boat. You agree to do that, and you get one hundred thousand dollars now, and another three hundred thousand when it’s over.”
“I’ve already told him I won’t sail,” I said, as though it was an insuperable barrier to her ambitions.
She shrugged. “Would he believe you if you changed your mind?” It was very silent under the trees; the wind was muffled and the dead needles acted as insulation. It made our voices seem unnaturally loud.
“He’d believe me,” I said reluctantly.
“So tell him.”
“And if I don’t do it—” I was trying not to make my voice stilted, even though I was stating the obvious “—Kassouli will pull all his jobs out of Britain?”
She smiled. “You’ve got it. But not just his jobs, Nick. He’ll pull out his investments, and he’ll move his operations to the Continent.
And a slew of British firms can kiss their hopes of new contracts on American projects goodbye. It’ll be tough, Nick, but you’ve met him.
He’s a determined guy. Kassouli doesn’t care if he goes down for a few millions, he can spare them.”
I paused. It seemed to me that Micky must have struck his pure gold for, in a few sentences, Jill-Beth had described Kassouli’s threat and, with any luck, all that damning evidence must be spooling silently on to the take-up reel of Micky’s recorder. All I had to do now was cross the Ts and dot the Is. “And Kassouli won’t do that if I sail on Wildtrack? ”
“Right.” She said it encouragingly, as though I was a slightly dumb pupil who needed to be chivvied into achievement. “Because we need your help, Nick! You’re our one chance. Persuade Bannister to take you as Wildtrack’s navigator, and count your money!” It seemed odd to me that Yassir Kassouli, with all his millions, could only rely on me, but perhaps Jill-Beth was right. My arrival at Bannister’s house must have seemed fortuitous, so perhaps that explained her eagerness. I was a very convenient weapon to Bannister’s enemies, if I chose to be so. “And exactly what do I have to do?” I wanted her to spell it out for the microphone.