The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley

a quiet place where we could cast our golden keel.

      I was perturbed when I suddenly discovered that I could not spot Metcalfe’s man. If he had pulled off his watchdogs because he thought we were innocent, then that was all right. But it seemed highly unlikely now that Coertze had given the game away. What seemed very likely was that something was being cooked up – and whatever was going to happen would certainly involve Sanford. I dropped my explorations and hurried back to the yacht basin.

      ‘I wasn’t followed,’ I said to Coertze.

      ‘I told you my way was best,’ he said. ‘They’ve been frightened off.’

      ‘If you think that Metcalfe would be frightened off because a hired wharf rat was beaten up, you’d better think again,’ I said. I looked hard at him. ‘If you go ashore to stretch your legs can I trust you not to hammer anyone you might think is looking at you cross-eyed?’

      He tried to hold my eye and then his gaze wavered. ‘O.K.,’ he said sullenly. ‘I’ll be careful. But you’ll find out that my way is best in the end.’

      ‘All right; you and Walker can go ashore to get a bite to eat.’ I turned to Walker. ‘No booze, remember. Not even wine.’

      Coertze said, ‘I’ll see to that. We’ll stick close together, won’t we?’ He clapped Walker on the back.

      They climbed on to the dockside and I watched them go, Coertze striding out and Walker hurrying to keep pace. I wondered what Metcalfe was up to, but finding that profitless, I went below to review our needs for the next few days. I stretched on the port settee and must have been very tired, because when I woke it was dark except for the lights of the town glimmering through the ports.

      And it was a movement on deck that had wakened me!

      I lay there for a moment until I heard another sound, then I rose cautiously, went to the companionway very quietly and raised my head to deck level. ‘Coertze?’ I called softly.

      A voice said, ‘Is that Signor Halloran?’ The voice was very feminine.

      I came up to the cockpit fast. ‘Who is that?’

      A dark shape moved towards me. ‘Mr Halloran, I want to talk to you.’ She spoke good English with but a trace of Italian accent and her voice was pleasantly low and even.

      I said, ‘Who are you?’

      ‘Surely introductions would be more in order if we could see each other.’ There was a hint of command in her voice as though she was accustomed to getting her own way.

      ‘O.K.,’ I said. ‘Let’s go below.’

      She slipped past me and went down the companionway and I followed, switching on the main cabin lights. She turned so that I could see her, and she was something worth looking at. Her hair was raven black and swept up into smooth wings on each side of her head as though to match the winged eyebrows which were dark over cool, hazel eyes. Her cheekbones were high, giving a trace of hollow in the cheeks, but she didn’t look like one of the fashionably emaciated models one sees in Vogue.

      She was dressed in a simple woollen sheath which showed off a good figure to perfection. It might have been bought at a local department store or it might have come from a Parisian fashion house; I judged the latter – you can’t be married to a woman for long without becoming aware of the price of feminine fripperies.

      She carried her shoes in her hand and stood in her stockinged feet, that was a point in her favour. A hundred-pound girl in a spike heel comes down with a force of two tons, and that’s hell on deck planking. She either knew something about yachts or …

      I pointed to the shoes and said, ‘You’re a pretty inexperienced burglar. You ought to have those slung round your neck to leave your hands free.’

      She laughed. ‘I’m not a burglar, Mr Halloran, I just don’t like shoes very much; and I have been on yachts before.’

      I moved towards her. She was tall, almost as tall as myself. I judged her to be in her late twenties or possibly, but improbably, her early thirties. Her lips were pale and she wore very little make-up. She was a very beautiful woman.

      ‘You have the advantage of me,’ I said.

      ‘I am the Contessa di Estrenoli.’

      I gestured at the settee. ‘Well, sit down, Contessa.’

      ‘Not Contessa – Madame,’ she said, and sat down, pulling the dress over her knees with one hand and placing the shoes at her side. ‘In our association together you will call me Madame.’

      I sat down slowly on the opposite settee. Metcalfe certainly came up with some surprises. I said carefully, ‘So we are going to be associated together? I couldn’t think of a better person to be associated with. When do we start?’

      There was frost in her voice. ‘Not the kind of association you are obviously thinking of, Mr Halloran.’ She went off at a tangent. ‘I saw your … er … companions ashore. They didn’t see me – I wanted to talk to you alone.’

      ‘We’re alone,’ I said briefly.

      She gathered her thoughts, then said precisely, ‘Mr Halloran, you have come to Italy with Mr Coertze and Mr Walker to remove something valuable from the country. You intend to do this illicitly and illegally, therefore your whole plan depends on secrecy; you cannot – shall we say ‘operate’ – if someone is looking over your shoulder. I intend to look over your shoulder.’

      I groaned mentally. Metcalfe had the whole story. Apparently the only thing he didn’t know was where the treasure was hidden. This girl was quite right when she said that it couldn’t be lifted if we were under observation, so he was coming right out and asking for a cut. Walker really must have talked in Tangier if Metcalfe could pinpoint it as close as Rapallo.

      I said, ‘O.K., Contessa; how much does Metcalfe want?’

      She raised her winged eyebrows. ‘Metcalfe?’

      ‘Yes, Metcalfe; your boss.’

      She shook her head. ‘I know of no Metcalfe, whoever he is. And I am my own boss, I assure you of that.’

      I think I kept my face straight. The surprises were certainly piling up. If this Estrenoli woman was mixed up with Metcalfe, then why would she deny it? If she wasn’t then who the devil was she – and how did she know of the treasure?’

      I said, ‘Supposing I tell you to jump over the side?’

      She smiled. ‘Then you will never get these valuables out of Italy.’

      There seemed to be a concession there, so I said, ‘And if I don’t tell you to jump over the side, then we will get the stuff out of the country, is that it?’

      ‘Some of it,’ she compromised. ‘But without my cooperation you will spend a long time in an Italian prison.’

      That was certainly something to think about and when I had time. I said, ‘All right; who are you, and what do you know?’

      ‘I knew that the news was out on the waterfront to watch for the yacht Sanford. I knew that the yacht was owned by Mr Halloran and that Mr Coertze and Mr Walker were his companions. That was enough for me.’

      ‘And what has the Contessa di Estrenoli got to do with waterfront rumours? What has an Italian aristocrat got to do with the jailbirds that news was intended for?’

      She smiled and said, ‘I have strange friends, Mr Halloran. I learn all that is interesting on the waterfront. I realize now that perhaps your Mr Metcalfe was responsible for the circulation of those instructions.’

      ‘So you learned that a yacht and three men were coming to Rapallo, and you said to yourself, “Ah, these three men are coming to take something out of Italy illegally,”’ I said with heavy irony. ‘You’ll have