Because he thought it would be a mistake for him not to do everything he normally did, he spent the next two hours in his sitting room writing letters with his secretary and paying bills.
Soon after noon he walked onto the terrace.
The usual friends were congregated there and he found Zsi-Zsi and the Grand Duke entertaining a number of people.
He joined them and received several invitations that he accepted, until at exactly half-past-twelve he left the terrace and was driven in his car down to the harbour.
His secretary had already carried out his instructions to alert The Mermaid and as he came aboard the Captain said,
“Everything’s prepared, sir, and I hope to your liking. The chef complained it was rather short notice, but I don’t think you will be disappointed in the menu.”
“I am sure I will not be,” Craig replied. “And now, Captain, I want a word with you, so we will go into the Saloon.”
The Saloon, which was painted pale green and had very attractive chintz covers over the furniture that matched the curtains, was a novelty in the yachting world, which up to now had kept strictly to the traditional polished mahogany panelling and leather chairs.
Having shut the door, the Captain stood waiting for his orders, which Craig gave him, slowly and clearly, making absolutely certain they were understood.
Only after he had finished speaking did the Captain give a little gasp and then exclaim,
“It seems almost incredible, sir!”
“I agree with you,” Craig said, “but when I engaged you, Captain, I went very carefully into your background, and I know that you have been through some traumatic experiences of your own and carried out your orders with a heroism which should have been rewarded.”
The Captain looked almost bashful.
“It’s most kind of you to say so, sir.”
“You will understand after what I have just told you,” Craig said, “that this is the reason I chose an Englishman to command my yacht, although I am an American.”
“That’s a compliment I greatly appreciate,” the Captain replied.
“Then brief your men, Captain, and let there be absolutely no mistakes. The timing has to be done to a split second.”
“I understand, sir.”
He saluted smartly and Craig was aware that there was a look of admiration in his eyes that had never been there before. It amused him to think how in the past, while the Captain had been prepared to command his ship and obey his orders to the letter, it had always been at the back of his mind that it was a pity he was an American.
It was something he had met before with the English, and when he was engaged on some desperate mission on their behalf he often longed to damn their impertinence for daring to think that because he belonged to another nation he was not only slightly inferior, but also less intelligent than they were.
There was, however, no time for personal retrospect. Instead Craig went from the Saloon into the smaller room adjacent to it where they were to eat.
This room was also decorated in green, but the seats and the chairs and curtains were not of chintz, but of emerald green velvet, which was echoed in the leaves of the camellias that decorated the table.
The centrepiece was a silver galleon made in Venice in the sixteenth century and the rest of the silver was early Georgian. Craig wondered if his guests would appreciate the time and thought he had given to the furnishings of The Mermaid.
Because he could afford it he wanted everything to be superlative of its kind as well as in excellent taste and he had only to look at the very fine oil paintings of ships that decorated the walls to know there was no yacht afloat that carried such treasures.
In the silver ice bucket there was champagne and also wines of excellent vintages from the finest vineyards in France.
As Craig stood looking at them, his Head Steward came in looking exceedingly smart in his silver-buttoned white cutaway coat.
Craig gave him his orders, which like those he had given to the Captain, were concise, clear and impossible to misunderstand.
Then, when the steward, who had been with him for some years on his other yachts, showed that he understood what was required, Craig moved back into the Saloon.
Exactly at the time expected, Baron Strogoloff was pushed aboard in his wheelchair to be welcomed by Craig’s secretary, Mr. Cavendish, at the top of the gangway and brought from there into the Saloon.
He was followed by two stalwart-looking Russians, hard-faced men, but dressed impeccably in yachting clothes in which they appeared somewhat out of place and ill at ease.
One glance at them before he greeted the Baron told Craig they were exactly what he had expected them to be, technicians who would take note of everything they saw and make sure the information was relayed to the yachts of the Russian Navy.
Smiling and speaking affably, he held out his hand to the Baron saying,
“I am delighted to see you, Baron, and I have so much to show you after luncheon.”
The Baron’s wheelchair was placed at the far end of the Saloon and after Craig had shaken hands with his two attendants and asked them to sit down the Stewards immediately carried round glasses of vodka.
The Russians swilled them down their throats in one gulp and the glasses were immediately refilled as Craig sat down beside the Baron to enquire with an air of boyish eagerness,
“How do you like my scheme of decoration?”
“It is certainly unusual, Mr. Vandervelt,” the Baron replied in a guttural voice.
“I thought you would think so. I cannot tell you how hard the builders tried to argue with me and persuade me to be more traditional.”
“I see you have some fine pictures.”
“I agree with you, and it would be a disaster if we were sunk at sea, but I don’t think that will happen.”
“The sea can always be a risk to everybody,” the Baron commented pompously.
Craig laughed.
“And so can a great many other things in life.”
His secretary opened the Saloon door.
“The Countess Aloya Zladamir, sir, and Lord Neasdon!”
Craig rose to his feet.
“Can I say how pleased I am to see you, Countess,” he asked, “and looking more lovely than spring itself? I have a surprise for you because I think you told me you have not met your compatriot, Baron Strogoloff, whom I have persuaded also to be my guest?”
He knew as he took Aloya’s hand in his that she was frightened.
At the same time with what he knew was a clever piece of acting, she replied,
“No, I have never met the Baron, but I have admired the beautiful yacht he owns.”
She walked across the room to shake hands with him, and Craig turned to Lord Neasdon to say,
“Welcome aboard, my Lord!”
He then introduced him to the Baron’s two attendants, who had risen rather awkwardly to their feet as the Countess had entered the cabin.
Aloya was standing by the Baron who was glaring at her and yet Craig knew perceptively that, fortified by her trust and belief in him, she was not so afraid as she might have been.
As he joined her, she exclaimed with exactly the right inflection in her voice,
“What a charming cabin and so different from what I expected.”
“That is what I want to hear,” Craig replied, “and the Baron has already said that he admires my pictures.”
“They are lovely, quite lovely!” Aloya cried, “and I hope we shall be able to see the whole of your yacht before we leave.”
“Of course. The State cabins are very unusual, at least the American magazines seem to think so. There is hardly one in which photographs of my yacht have not appeared.”
“I shall so look forward to seeing everything.”
Aloya was looking so lovely that Craig knew he had to be careful not to reveal both his admiration and his love when he looked at her.
It would be a mistake, he knew, to underestim
ate the Baron in any way and, as if what he was thinking communicated itself to Aloya, she moved towards Lord Neasdon and slipped her arm through his.
“What do you think of it?” she asked him.
She turned her eyes upwards as she spoke in a way which made Craig long to snatch her into his arms and forbid her ever to look at another man.
But he knew she was only carrying out his instructions, and Lord Neasdon said heavily,
“I suppose these pictures are originals and not reproductions?”
“You insult me!” Craig replied lightly.
“I am sure there is – nothing about Mr. Vandervelt which is not – original.”
As Aloya spoke, she refused a glass of vodka and then accepted one of champagne.
Lord Neasdon looked surprised at the smaller glass saying,
“I don’t believe I have ever drunk vodka.”
“You must try it,” Craig answered. “It is the traditional Russian drink when you are eating caviar and, as the Baron will tell you, stimulates the entire system.”
“Well, I suppose I must be daring,” Lord Neasdon said in a, voice, which showed it was the last thing he was likely to be.
He picked up the glass and was about to sip it when Aloya gave a little cry.
“No, no! That is not the right way to drink vodka. You must pour it down your throat at one gulp. Am I not right, Baron?”
“That is right,” the Baron agreed.
He sat glowering from under his bushy eyebrows and Craig had the feeling that he was slightly disconcerted at meeting her and was not quite sure what he should do about it.
The glasses of vodka were filled and refilled before luncheon was announced.
Then the Baron’s wheelchair was pushed into the smaller Saloon next door and he was seated on Craig’s left, while Aloya sat on his right with Lord Neasdon next to her.
The two Russians had been placed one beside the Baron and the other at the far end of the table. They sat down awkwardly, making no effort to speak, but proceeded as the meal progressed to eat and drink everything that was put in front of them.
The Captain had been right when he said that the chef had made a great effort.
The food was delicious and Craig forced himself to eat, but he was aware that because she was afraid, Aloya’s throat was constricted and it was almost impossible for her to swallow anything.
However, she was clever enough to appear to be eating and played about with the food on her plate only pushing what was left to one side just before the plates were removed for the next course.
Lord Neasdon, perfectly at his ease, ate heartily, but Craig knew that his guest not only disliked him as a man, but was also envious of his possessions and it was hard for him to respond effusively when Aloya praised everything including the camellias that decorated the table and the silver galleon in the centre of it.
“I am a collector of ships,” Craig explained, “and, because I am fond of the sea, I have a great many ancient models in silver and gold and some with precious stones.”
“How exciting!” Aloya exclaimed. “I would love to see them.”
“I hope one day I will be able to show them to you.”
He spoke without any depth of feeling in his voice, but his heart told him that the day would come when he would not only show Aloya his treasures, but she would share them with him.
Then, because he was determined to allay any suspicions the Baron might have that this was not a perfectly ordinary luncheon party, he set out to be amusing and witty about Monte Carlo and his travels to other places in the world.
The way he talked made it impossible for anybody not to laugh, and he was aware that the Baron relaxed a little as he drank a great deal and his eyes did not seem quite so hard and suspicious and even his hands a little less claw-like.
As if he wished to assert himself, Lord Neasdon told a long and rather boring story of an encounter with robbers in one of the high passes in Switzerland.
When he finished, Craig capped it with a tale of being pursued by pirates off the coast of Malaya.
“I was fortunate,” he said, “that at that time my yacht was considerably faster than their craft – otherwise I doubt if I should be here telling the tale.”
“It sounds very frightening!” Aloya remarked.
“When one is in danger,” Craig replied, “one often has a feeling of exhilaration.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“Because one is pitting one’s brains and one’s strength against another human being and, if the odds are equal, it becomes a challenge to one’s personality.”
“And if the – odds are not – equal?”
She spoke in a low voice and Craig knew what she was thinking.
“One has to rely on the unexpected, or perhaps on a power greater than one’s self that is always available if we know how to look for it.”
He knew as he saw the expression in her eyes change that she understood what he was telling her and, because once again she was acting on his instructions, she turned to Lord Neasdon to ask,
“Have you ever felt that?”
“I have always relied on myself and my brain,” he replied pompously, “and that is why we British have been victorious in so many different fields.”
“Of course,” Craig replied. “At the same time you are not doing so well at the moment against the Boers.”
He could not help the jibe, but as he saw Lord Neasdon stiffen and had no wish to antagonise him, he added quickly,
“But we are not going to talk politics today. This is a happy occasion and, as you are my first party aboard The Mermaid, I want you to drink a special toast wishing her success and a safe harbour to wherever she journeys.”
“Of course we must do that!” Aloya cried, clapping her hands.
As Craig was speaking, the Stewards had brought in fresh glasses and while one man passed them around to the guests, the other carried a decanter in each hand.
“This is the most famous wine in Europe in which to drink a toast,” Craig explained. “It is Tokay, which you all know comes from Hungary, and is highly esteemed by the Austrians, as I am sure the Baron is aware.”
“Yes, indeed,” the Baron agreed, “but I don’t think I have ever drunk Tokay.”
“Then this is the first time for you and the first luncheon party aboard The Mermaid and the first time I have ever had such an enchanting guest as the Countess.”
Aloya looked shy and blushed and Craig knew for the moment she was not acting.
The Steward filled the glasses, then, as if he could not be left out, Lord Neasdon said,
“I will propose the toast! To the The Mermaid, to its owner and of course to somebody who is more beautiful and more alluring than any mermaid or siren to be found in the sea!”
Looking at Aloya he raised his glass and, as she smiled at him, he drank down the Tokay saying as he did so,
“No heel-taps!”
It was echoed with pleasure as the Russians obeyed him and the glasses of Tokay disappeared down their throats at the same speed as the vodka had.
“That was a very nice toast,” Aloya said, who had only sipped her drink.
“Thank you,” Lord Neasdon said. “I knew it would please you.”
He spoke in an intimate possessive manner that made Craig tighten his lips.
Then as a Steward started to refill the glasses he said to the Baron,
“You have not told me, Baron, and it is something I would like to know, why you have brought two yachts with you to Monte Carlo.”
The Baron hesitated as if he was thinking up some good explanation and, as he did so, there was a sudden clatter as one of the Russians fell forward onto the table, his forehead coming to rest on a saucer and the coffee in his cup slowly pouring out onto the white cloth.
The Baron turned his head angrily and said something sharply to the man next to him, which Craig, even with his limited knowledge of Russian, knew was a rebuke for a disgusting example of
drunkenness.
But, as he spoke, the other Russian collapsed too and because his face was turned towards the Baron, he fell sideways and, before anyone could realise what was happening, he had slipped under the table.
The Baron looked absolutely furious and then, as he opened his lips to speak, Craig said very quietly,
“Don’t blame them, Baron, the Tokay they drank contained a drug which works instantly. They will sleep for the next three hours, then be left with nothing more than a very unpleasant headache.”
The Baron stiffened and his fingers clenched slowly into his palm.
“As your two friends, as you term them, are unable to enjoy the rest of your visit here,” Craig went on, “I suggest their place be taken by another guest on your yacht, Mr. Randall Sare.”
“I refuse, I absolutely refuse!” the Baron replied.
“Very well,” Craig said. “If you will not send for him, I will take the The Mermaid out to sea and there will be a most unfortunate accident on which the two Russians who are here with you as your bodyguard will not be able to report coherently in any detail.”
He paused before he added,
“A wheelchair can so easily slip overboard!”
There was a long silence.
Then the Baron said in a surly voice,
“Very well, I will send for Randall Sare, but you will get little sense out of him.”
“That is my concern,” Craig replied.
He must have rung a bell as he finished speaking, for a Steward came into the room carrying a blotter on which there was a piece of writing paper engraved with the name of the yacht, an inkwell and a pen.
“You will write,” Craig said, as it was set down in front of the Baron, “telling whoever is in command of the Czarevich to bring Randall Sare here in my motor car, which is waiting at your gangway. One man can help him, or two if necessary and, although it is only a very short distance, the car will make it unnecessary for him to make the effort to walk if he is not fit enough to do so.”
The Baron’s lips were tight with fury, but he wrote in a scrawling hand on the writing paper and signed it with his name.
Then he put down the pen and Craig picked up the paper and handed it to Aloya.
Mission to Monte Carlo Page 12