Dressed in her posh outfit, Lucinda made a final check of her handbag, but Martha had been meticulous and everything was there. Credit cards, money, handkerchief, Mace, keys, comb, wipes, perfume and the .22 automatic pistol with silencer.
‘Now Martha, don’t forget, they’ll be searching for our new guests and we don’t want anyone snooping around, do we?’
‘No ma’am, that wouldn’t do at all.’
Lucinda drove away at six o’clock, and Martha was pleased, because the way her mistress drove, she should be in Penzance in plenty of time to catch the helicopter.
Having arrived in Penzance, Lucinda was surprised.
After only twenty minutes from taking off, the Sikorski was touching down on St Mary’s, and while the porter from the hotel took her luggage in his van, she boarded the bus that would take her to town, and in no time at all she had arrived at Hugh Town.
The Scillonian docked at Hugh Town and the luggage was soon craned off onto the quay, and collecting his Bergen, Frank wandered up to the phone booths.
Calling Moon Shadow, his heart skipped a beat when he heard the sound of her rich and musky, musical accent, ‘Hello.’
‘Mrs P? It’s Frank, I’ve just arrived.’
‘Good, it’s about time. And one of these days you’ll remember my name.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that, but I still feel guilty, you know, saying it.’
Antoinette gazed out to sea, and pressing her lips together, held back the tears.
‘Yes, I know … But I’ve told you so many times, it wasn’t your fault, it never was, it was the Balkan connection going out of control, that’s what killed Archie, not you.’
Standing in the emptiness of his life, Frank wished he could turn the clock back.
‘I know, but I can’t help feeling responsible, us making love, when I should …’
‘Alright. Well if you insist on playing the martyr, then what can I do for you?’
Frank heard the angry pain in her voice, but didn’t know how to make it better.
‘Well I was wondering if there was any more news, you know, about that yacht.’
‘I see. Well at the moment, she’s laying disabled at anchor between Tresco and Bryher, and for more information, go to the quay by the Mermaid pub at five o’clock, there’ll be two old sailors by the sea wall, so listen very carefully to what they’re saying, and Frank, if you get hurt with this ugly business, I’ll never forgive you.’
Stepping off the bus, Lucinda soon realised she looked out of place in her posh outfit as just about everyone was dressed in smart casual clothes, and then she noticed a clothes shop that seemed to have everything from French chic to ultra-smart casual.
Enjoying the browsing, she bought leather sandals, shorts and tee shirts, a classy pair of casual trousers and a soft colourful jumper, and while chatting to the assistant, was told the tourist information office was just down the street.
Strolling down, she collected brochures, maps and timetables, and wandering back, stepped through the ancient doorway of the Atlantic Inn, and buying a gin and tonic, settled herself at a table in the corner and began to read through the information.
As time drifted away, she thought it was quite pleasant to be here in the old Inn, its low exposed beams giving a warm and snug ambience while the gentle banter of the locals sent a relaxed and happy sound all around the bar.
Looking over to the large picture window, she saw old French doors leading out onto a sunny terrace, and beyond was the wide bay of the harbour, now full with dinghies, yachts and launches all held gently bobbing at anchor, and across to the left, saw the Scillonian tied up at the far end of the quay, but already she was making ready to sail again.
Soaking it all up, she gazed around the bar and saw a tall, rugged looking man, duck under the low beam as he stepped in off the street, and finding an empty space at the bar, set his backpack down and ordered a pint of Guinness.
She sat motionless, his big brown eyes sending a shiver through her memory, and in a flash, remembered that unwanted visitor to the farm. Mr Frank Lewis.
Sitting in shocked confusion, she realised that as it couldn’t be an amazing coincidence, it had to be part of that hellish conspiracy, and Angela must have sent him here to get proof when she killed Rattenegger, and armed with that, could send her back to that bloody awful sanatorium.
Oh Angela, what a filthy, cunning bitch you are.
But when she looked back to the bar, all she saw was an empty Guinness glass.
Stepping out of the Atlantic Inn, Frank felt all the better for the pint of Guinness, and wandering up to the Garrison, turned onto the steep rise and passed by a hotel with its sunny terrace looking out over the off-islands of Tresco and Bryher.
Walking up to the Garrison, he passed through the archway of the ancient fortification, and what might have been the guardroom and jail way back in the 1700s.
Slogging on up he eventually reached the fortified wall, and following it along, stopped to look over the edge, and lighting a cigarette, took a much closer look, because he was now facing what had always been bothering him.
Way back then, those clever builders had known just what they were doing, and when they built the running wall, they’d positioned the many cannon emplacements so that each overlooked the other and gave a murderous crossfire, and while it denied any hope for an invading navy, it now gave him little chance of remaining unseen, but down below was a grassy outcrop over on the edge, which with any luck would hide him and the Bergen.
Waiting till the area was free of tourists, he pushed the heavy Bergen up onto the gun emplacement, and climbing up after it, lowered it over the side, and taking hold of the stonework, eased himself over and dropped down onto the steep slope.
Pulling the Bergen, he inched down and found the ground cut away beneath the outcrop, and while it formed a natural ledge, it was just wide and long enough to hide everything.
It wasn’t perfect but it would do the job, and now he could leave the Bergen in safety while he went back down to the quay and listened to the two old sailors, and later, return to the ledge, make camp, watch the channel and sleep undisturbed for the night.
Just as long as he didn’t roll off the cliff.
Lucinda stepped out of the pub, but Lewis was nowhere in sight, and with a scowl, shrugged and walked on to the hotel.
The afternoon was surprisingly hot and her smart suit had suddenly become a nuisance, but soon she could take a shower, and when her crowded mind felt a little more settled, she would decide what to do about the honourable Mr Lewis.
Walking through the ornate archway, she made her way to reception, and having checked in, the receptionist looked past her and called to a young porter.
‘Luigi. Would you take the luggage, and show Mrs Coogan to her room.’
Lucinda turned, and just for a moment it was as if she were looking at a beautiful doll, because standing there was a gorgeous boy, just so tall and slender with dark curly hair, and whilst his handsome face would soon break the heart of many a woman, just now in his boyish years, his dark flashing eyes held all the innocence of a beguiling youth.
‘Mi scusi.’
The receptionist handed him the room key and pointed down to Lucinda’s luggage.
‘Bagagli.’
The young boy smiled happily, his perfect teeth flashing in the purest of white.
‘Si, comprende.’
The receptionist apologised to Lucinda, but her cool eyes were only for the young boy.
‘Sorry about that, he’s Italian you see, and working for us on a foreign exchange trip, and actually, he understands quite a lot of English, but has a problem with the speech, that’s why he’s staying with us for a while, for work experience and help him improve.’
As he collected her bags and shopping, Lucinda watched his graceful young body.
‘Yes, it’s a good idea, but he seems rather young.’
The woman stared past her, and snatching her gaze away, looked back to Lucin
da.
‘Sorry? Oh, I see. Yes, he’s only sixteen, but he’s such a good boy, and very willing.’
Lucinda suppressed a smile as she wondered just how willing she’d like him to be.
Following him through the hotel, Lucinda became absorbed as she watched the lithe movements of his young athletic body, his small, tight bottom seeming to possess an erotic rhythm all of its own, and as she became entranced, wondered if any of the women here on the islands had sought to broaden his more worldly education.
Opening the door, Luigi walked through and carefully placed her shopping on the bed, and following him inside, saw the room was light, bright and spacious with twin beds, then an en-suite bathroom and large double windows overlooking the sparkling sea.
Turning back to him, she realised he was struggling for words as he gestured whether to turn back the duvet and open the windows.
Giving him a warm open smile, she tried to remember her schoolgirl phrasebook of Italian conversation.
‘Si. Grazie Luigi.
Smiling, he turned away, and walking to the windows began to open them, and as she watched the easy movements of his young body, reminded herself that she was here to murder an ugly old woman, not to seduce a beautiful young boy.
But it might be fun to tease him, and why shouldn’t she. Didn’t she work hard enough.
Having decided to play her game, she took off her jacket and tossed it to the bed, and unbuttoning her creamy silk blouse, tugged it out of her skirt and slipped it off, and holding it out at arm’s length, waited until he turned round, and smiling to his sudden confusion, released it, and as it fluttered down in a shimmering whisper, stretched up her arms, her breasts lifted high in the tiny bra as she ran her fingers through her hair.
Luigi came to a halt, his confused eyes now drawn to the fullness of her soft cleavage, her large breasts lifted high and bulging from within the low cut, black, gossamer bra.
‘Luigi. Per favore. Would you run the shower for me?’
His expression filled with embarrassed confusion, ‘Signora. I no understood.’
‘The shower, Luigi. Comprende?’
He shook his head, ‘No.’
Smiling, she beckoned to him, ‘Come, I’ll show you.’
Following her to the bathroom, he watched as she pointed to the taps of the shower while making a turning action with her hands, ‘Per favore. Fare la doccia.’
He sighed with relief, ‘Ahh. Si Signora. I understood.’
‘Good boy.’
Turning the taps, his shirt became soaked as he tried to adjust the temperature, and watching him, Lucinda smiled as she stepped out of her skirt and slipped off the bra.
‘Grazie, Luigi. Grazie.’
Turning, his breath suddenly caught in his throat when he saw her standing there in nothing more than high-heels, stockings, suspenders and tiny black knickers.
‘Signora. I …’
‘What is it, Luigi? Oh, I see … It’s your shirt, it’s soaking wet. But never mind, slip it off and I’ll hang it in the sun to dry.’
In a hot flush, he stood perfectly still as Madam Coogan stood close, her breasts touching him as she slipped off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt, and peeling it off, tossed it away, and smiling into his dark eyes, drew him to her, the softness of her breasts rousing him as they bulged against his wet silky skin.
‘Madam. Signora. I …’
‘Hush now. Silenzio. Be quiet.’
Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his dark curls, and kissing him, let her tongue dance the demon in his mouth, and taking her lips from his, smiled when she saw the destruction of his young innocence taking place in front of her eyes, and unbuttoning his trousers, she pushed them down.
Luigi made no protest when Madam Coogan knelt down and took off his clothes, and taking him gently by the hand, led him into the steamy torrent of the shower, and he could only tremble when she put his arms around her, her breasts against his chest, and when she revealed to him the nature of passionate love, so came his awakening.
47
Climbing back over the gun emplacement, Frank walked down into Hugh Town, and passing by the hotel, saw the residents sitting on the terrace as they drank and chattered in the late afternoon sun, and rounding the corner, saw two old sailors passing the time by the sea wall.
They stopped talking when he stood beside them to gaze out to sea, but after carefully looking him over, they nodded to each other and started talking about a man called John.
‘He’s been on board that big old Barque.’
‘What, the Polywhatsit?’
‘Aye, that’s the one, she’s got a steel hull and weighs around two thousand tonnes.’
Lighting a cigarette, Frank settled down to listen.
‘So what’s John doing on her then, ‘cos he’s an engine man?’
‘Well what do you think, fixing her engines of course.’
‘But John’s a petrol man, everyone knows that.’
‘That’s why he’s there, ‘cos the carburettors need a good service before she sails, and John’s the best man when it comes to carburettors.’
‘I know, ‘cos he fixed mine, and the engine fell out.’
‘Well your old car is nothing but a rust bucket, it shouldn’t be on the road.’
‘It isn’t now, ‘cos the engine fell out.’
‘Well that’s good riddance if you ask me. Now what were we talking about?’
‘It was John, but it’s daft, nobody uses petrol engines no more, it’s all diesel.’
‘Well that’s right. But according to the crew, just after the second World War, Polywhatsername kept getting herself becalmed off the southern states of America, so the owner had a pair of Sherman tank engines fitted, just for in-shore cruising.’
‘Jesus. Well she’d need a ton of fuel on board to power those things.’
‘She has, and according to that six man, foreign crew, there’s a companionway leading from the afterdeck to a bloody great tank that’s full with over four hundred gallons of the stuff, that’s why they can only have a smoke, up on the forward deck.’
‘Well that sounds bloody dangerous to me.’
‘It is, because Polywhosit is a floating death trap, and especially now, ‘cos John left the fuel lines bare, and he can’t fit the carburettors back on till the day after tomorrow, so till then, just keep your fingers crossed, and hope that dopey crew don’t go messing about and switch the fuel pump on, if you see what I mean.’
Frank put out the cigarette, and as the two old sailors were turning to walk away, bent down to the cobbles with two twenty pound notes in his hand.
‘Excuse me, but I think you must have dropped these.’
‘Well I’m damned, I do believe we did, and now we’ll have a pint for you, young ‘un, just for your honesty, you understand.’
Taking the money, the old man screwed up his weather beaten face in thought.
‘Well, young ‘un, I don’t rightly know why I’m telling you this, I must be getting old, but tonight’s not much good, it’s a clear sky, you see, so the moon will be full out, but tomorrow night will be different ‘cos there’s a stack of cloud cover coming in.’
Watching the two old sailors wander off, Frank wished he could thank Antoinette, and god knows how she managed it, but not only had she given him all the detail he needed, but she’d also put Polyvotis out of action for one more valuable day.
In the local supermarket, he bought enough food supplies to last, and stepping inside the Atlantic Inn, settled down with a pint of Guinness to do some hard thinking, and thanks to Mrs P and her man, John, he now knew how to deal with Polyvotis.
Enjoying the Guinness, he thought it through - but it wasn’t going to be easy as any materials he would need could only come from the island, then tomorrow he had to get over to Tresco, make camp and wait for nightfall, then swim to Polyvotis, get on board and leak the fuel out from the disconnected lines, set his incendiary device and swim like hell.
>
So all he needed was the right materials and some ammunition for the catapult.
Finding an old hardware store, he browsed along the shelves and found an old fashioned brass alarm clock.
It had a strong circular case and a large dial, and sitting on top of the casing were two large bells, one on either side. Standing up between them was a tall hammer, which at the time of the alarm would thrash violently left and right to strike each bell like a demon.
Taking it over to the counter, he bought boxes of matches, a sharp modelling knife, a tube of superglue, and a box of twenty, large ball bearings.
Climbing over the gun emplacement he dropped down onto the slope, slithered down to the edge and thumped onto the shelf, and setting to work, stripped the striker edge from the box of matches and glued it around the hammer, and taking the matches, cut their heads off and stuck them all over the two alarm bells.
And now, at the chosen time, the hammer would go crazy and thrash the striker edge against the match heads on the bells, and if he allowed three hours to drain out the petrol, there should be enough fuel in the bilges’ to send Polyvotis to hell in a blaze of glory.
Unzipping a compartment in the Bergen, he took out the martial arts catapult, which with the correct ammunition, was nothing less than a silent killing machine.
The body was carbon fibre, the elastic, high tensile, and the pouch, soft chamois, the almost perfect assassination weapon as no man’s head could survive a ball bearing flying at maximum velocity.
Stepping out into the late afternoon sun, Lucinda felt more comfortable in a tee shirt of the palest olive green, creamy yellow shorts and soft leather sandals, but she’d barely walked five paces when she heard an urgent young voice behind her.
‘Madam. You go? I come. I come you.’
Swinging round she saw Luigi, his dark eyes burning intensely.
‘No ... you mustn’t. You’re supposed to be working.’
Looking at her, his expression became desperate, his body hard and taut.
‘Work not good, better I come you.’
Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) Page 47