He answered on the third ring. ‘Cass, halo. Ciamar a tha thu?’
My Gaelic could cope with that. I answered in Norwegian ‘Bra. Og med deg?’
‘Hmm,’ Gavin replied. ‘You sound more like ikke sa verst.’
Not so bad. ‘Mmm,’ I said, and realised at once that I was at a loss. I was Gavin’s girl now. How could I raise Alain’s ghost? ‘It’s just something odd … I’ll tell you when we meet.’
‘Saturday’s still looking good. I have to appear in court tomorrow, but that should be it.’
‘The people-trafficking case?’
His phone crackled as he nodded. ‘It’s just the first hearing. The trial won’t be until autumn, but I hope this middleman and his underlings will go down for as long as the judge can give him. The top man is free and rich in the Med.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose it makes a change from Spain. The French police know who he is, and can’t find a scrap of evidence to nail him on. Three months, six at best, and he’ll have built up a new chain.’
‘Mmm.’ He sounded down, and cynical. I tried to think of something encouraging to say. ‘They got Al Capone on tax-dodging in the end.’
That made him laugh. ‘Well, if you can come up with some odd Med regulation pertaining to super-yachts in Cannes, just let me know.’
‘I will. The day after tomorrow, then, Lerwick, DV.’
‘Weather permitting. I know. How did Cat get on at the vet?’
‘Nobody got bitten this time.’
‘Because he was happier, or the vet was quicker?’
‘The vet was better prepared. He remembered last time.’
‘But does it let him go ashore?’
I sighed. ‘You tell me. I’ve read the regulations till I’m square-eyed. He’s got his passport, he’s had his injections, he’s been checked within twenty-four hours of leaving. All that should let him in. But Sørlandet’s not a ferry, and Lerwick’s not a recognised port of entry, which I think may mean he has to stay on board throughout our visit. It doesn’t exactly say so. They won’t impound him or anything, just stick him in quarantine till we leave again.’
‘Does Lerwick have somewhere to quarantine him?’
‘Of course not. Besides, it’s all very well to say he has to stay on board. They can come and explain that to him. He’s been a ship’s cat since he was six weeks old. He’s used to coming and going as he pleases when we’re in port.’
Like travelling cats on every boat, he also had an uncanny sense of what the ship was up to. He occasionally spent the night ashore, but he’d always return in time to slip into his place on the aft deck for the morning all-hands muster.
‘I’m sure there’ll be no problem with sticking him in your dad’s car for us going to dinner there.’
‘I’m sure there won’t.’ Cat knew he could rely on Maman for a plateful of interesting scraps.
‘Have you asked your captain about Glyndebourne?’
Maman was singing there in three weeks’ time. ‘Luckily he considers opera one of the civilised arts. Once he’s met Maman, I hope he’ll let me come. I’ve told her to be on the pier in Lerwick as we come in, so I can introduce them.’
‘Machiavellian.’
His soft Highland voice sent a wave of longing through me. ‘Oh, I’m looking forward to seeing you. Two days.’
‘Is your stickler captain going to condemn me to a hammock?’
‘He hasn’t said anything. You’re not a crew member.’
I could hear he was smiling. ‘Perhaps he hasn’t considered anything as appalling as sleeping with the trainees.’
‘Oh, there are strict rules about that. I just don’t know if they apply to current partners. Anyway, I hope we’ll get a night aboard Khalida, in peace.’
‘I hope so too. What other news? Has your underling arrived?’
He meant Rafael. ‘Yes.’
‘Ah. That’s your problem?’
‘I’ll explain when I see you.’
Alain would have teased it out of me, between urging and guesses, but Gavin understood privacy. ‘What watch are you on?’
‘White. Four till eight.’
‘A better one for phoning.’
‘Except that I won’t have a signal until we get within sight of Shetland.’ I knew that we were rambling now. ‘Good luck with your court thing.’
‘Thank you.’ I heard a voice in the background, calling his name. ‘Have to go. Day after tomorrow. Beannachd leat.’
‘Bye,’ I said softly, and held the phone at my ear a moment longer, hearing the silence; then I snicked it off. It was ridiculous to have this hollow feeling about being on my own till Shetland. I squared my shoulders and turned back towards my ship.
CHAPTER TWO
I’d just reached the gangplank when I spotted two unmistakeable trainees heading for the ship, each trundling a large bag. It was the couple I’d noticed earlier at the marina. So much for my imagination; the determined mistress I’d created had obviously been some item of last-minute shopping, like sun-tan lotion or sea-sickness pills. I put new words to the woman’s hand gestures: ‘No, no, you go on. I’ll nip back and get it and catch you up …’
I stepped forward. ‘Hi, can I help you?’
‘We’ve come to sign on. Oliver and Laura Eastley.’
Practice was making me smoother at this. I held out my hand. ‘Cass Lynch, second mate. Welcome aboard Sørlandet. Have you just arrived in Kristiansand?’
‘Last night,’ Oliver said. He flashed me a dazzling smile, the sort of easy charm that made me feel he was one to watch: a golden son of affluent parents who’d had life given to him on a plate, and expected it to continue that way. He was fairer than I’d expected from that glimpse at the marina, with the sun gilding his hair, and taller; his wife’s head barely reached his cheekbones. ‘Laura wanted a last night in a bed and a wash in hot water before coming on board.’
‘We wanted a look at Kristiansand too,’ Laura added. ‘We had a wander round the fort yesterday evening, and watched the sun set into the sea.’
Their voices placed them: unmistakeably private-school Edinburgh, although their fair hair and sleek, broad brows looked English. They were both about my age, glossy and groomed like city people, but dressed for the country; he was wearing a shaped Barbour, she had the powder-blue padded jacket I’d noticed earlier, and they both had jeans and practical footgear. Corporate: lawyers, estate agents, accountants.
I gestured them up the gangplank. ‘Come aboard.’ I gave a quick look around, but there was no sign of Jenn. ‘Just wait by the table here. I won’t be a moment.’
I headed aft to look for Jenn. She wasn’t in her office, but there was laughter sounding from the kitchen: Alain’s laugh. I shoved the pang down and put my head round the door. She and Rafael were leaning together over a book on the counter. I would get used to it …
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Jenn, we’ve got our first trainees.’ I jerked my head deckwards. ‘Laura and Oliver Eastley.’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll come and get their passports.’
The trainee introduction was a fixed routine. Red watch began at the forward part of the ship, the lookout deck and foresails area, with the heads and showers below the foredeck. Blue watch was taken up to the aft deck, and shown the wheel, ship’s compass and bell. White watch did the main deck first, which included rig training, so I sent my two ABs, Mona and Johan, for the net bag of climbing harnesses, and by the time they’d hauled that on deck the first of the trainees had started to fill the dock with a sea of bags. On the dot of noon, Agnetha went forward to welcome them, and the next half hour was busy with greeting and indicating lockers.
After that, we lined them all up on deck, in their watches, and Rolf, the bosun, took a photograph of each watch, then nipped off to print them out while the captain did his welcome speech. I surveyed my seventeen and matched them to the printed list Rolf slipped into my hand. Ten male, seven female. The Eastleys were the only Brits. Otherwise, we had eleven Norwegia
ns, a Danish husband and wife, and two Swedish men. There was a family, the Hansens, with father, mother, two teenage sons and a younger daughter, twelve perhaps. The older boy was already eyeing up the mast as if it was an adventure playground; the younger was hiding under his hoodie, phone in hand. The two older men beside them wore well-used sailing jackets, and had that seaman’s tan that was more like weathering. They’d be good on the team, quick to obey orders, and familiar with boat terminology. There was a pair of women in their twenties, tall, fair, and already eyeing the crew up with interest; the ship’s sirens for the voyage. Another woman, standing on her own, had that teacher air of authority. As I watched, she turned and made a comment to the man beside her, also standing on his own. He was wearing a heavy black jacket and had that forces look, an off-duty soldier, or maybe an ambulance man – no, a firefighter, as he turned to show the red and white stripes on his shoulder. Three stars: Overbranmester, a senior officer. The Danish couple were a reversal of the usual: her sailing jacket was well-worn, while his was obviously new for the voyage, and while she was scanning the masts with sparkling eyes, his mouth was twisted down, apprehensive. The two Swedes were at the end, both in their mid-forties, looking around as if this was all new to them. Pretty average for a watch: plenty of enthusiasm, some experience, a couple of good heavyweights for rope-hauling.
I watched from the aft deck as Petter took my trainees through the rig training. They began by checking arm strength – a quick lift from the bars of the boat deck, the raised area amidships. All five of the family passed; they had that look of people who did regular sports. Oliver Eastley flexed his muscles, then pulled himself up on his arms without any visible effort. Laura looked up, hesitated, and stepped back, but Oliver cajoled her forwards, and she raised herself and swung competently enough. One of the older men swung himself up without difficulty, and the other shook his head. One non-climber. One of the Swedes and the firefighter joined him at the side rail and there was some joking comment about fear of landing. The firefighter indicated his broad shoulders and gave the ratlines a shake – not up to his weight. The teacher stepped forward, swung herself up briskly, hung for the count of fifteen, then lowered herself down. The sirens shimmied up with the air of women who went to the gym. The Danish man gave it a try, looking up apprehensively. His wife had to clamber up the ladder to reach the rail, but then swung competently enough. Eleven definites out of seventeen was good going.
Next step was emptying pockets, then fitting the harnesses. They were proper climbing harnesses with thigh and shoulder straps and a central chest buckle. Petter gave the safety talk, then led the first four up the mainmast ratlines, a spider’s web of wooden horizontals and thick wire uprights bound with gripping cord. Mona joined them, encouraging, particularly at the awkward bit before the first platform, where the web narrowed to less than foot width, and they had to hang half upside-down to get around and onto the jutting-out platform.
They let them stand on the platform for five minutes, looking across at the canvas-swathed spars all around them, down to the wooden deck ten metres below, then Petter led the descent on the opposite ratlines. He spoke upwards at them: ‘Remember, the most dangerous part is the last two metres. Never relax until your feet are actually on the deck.’
Johan was already on his way up with the next four, leaving the last group looking upwards: Oliver Eastley and the Danish wife impatiently, Laura and the Danish man with apprehension. Rafael lounged out of the aft companionway. ‘I’ll stand guard below if you want to take them up, Cass.’
My heart leapt at the thought of going aloft. He’d known it would; I saw it in the slight smile that hovered around his mouth. ‘Thanks,’ I said, and swung down to the aft banjer door to get my harness from the crew hooks. My hands fastened it without me needing to think about it: shoulder straps, thighs, carabiner. ‘Ready?’
The Danish wife nodded, and set off upwards. Her husband followed, as though he didn’t want to be shown up. I suspected that once we were at sea he’d prefer to be deck team. Laura gave Oliver an uncertain glance. He nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’ He laid a hand on her arm. ‘Come on, Lols, give it a go.’
‘Are you OK with heights?’ I asked her.
She nodded. ‘We did a climbing wall on one of those corporate team-bonding things, and I was fine with that.’ She didn’t look fine, though, with her gaze flicking to Oliver every couple of seconds. I motioned them onto the ratlines, and swung onto the spider’s web beside Laura, feet secure on the wooden treads, the rope paint-smooth in my bare hands. Laura climbed steadily upwards until we were almost at the first platform, then she stopped, looking up. For a moment I thought she’d frozen. Above us, Oliver was eyeing up the rope ladder that jutted out into the air above our heads, going in a diagonal from the ratlines to the edge of the platform. Laura was watching him, face anxious. Then before I could give him instructions, he’d swung himself onto it, hands tight around the wires at the upper edge of the platform, arms taking his weight as he scrambled upwards, feet fumbling to squeeze into the narrow lines at the top. With a heave and a shove, he was over and on the platform, looking down. ‘The view’s good up here. Come and look.’
‘That was doing it the hard way,’ I said to her. ‘We don’t have his arm strength, so what we do is imagine that we’re coming down. Keep thinking downwards, and put your weight on your legs, with your hands just there to keep you balanced.’
She looked at me, face tight with concentration, looked upwards at Oliver again, then nodded and moved upwards again. She was agile, and her feet were neat enough to fit into even the sections immediately below the platform. She pushed herself up onto the iron grid, lay for a moment, then stood up. I joined her.
The view was worth the climb. At eye level and upwards, there was the elegant precision of yards and furled sails, joined by the tracery of ropes. Outwards from the ship, Kristiansand was spread below us. Straight ahead, the broad street led up to the market square, a jumble of coloured awnings and spreads of flowers and vegetables, with the rose-pink cathedral tall behind. To our left, the waterfront ran along to the railway station; to our right, the red wood buildings of the fish market basked in the sun.
‘Come on,’ Oliver said impatiently, and began to climb downwards. I saw Laura safely off the platform, then stood looking out, filling my lungs with the clean air. This is what I was made for …
I couldn’t stand up here all day. I followed Laura down and checked my watch. 14.45. We should be finished by 15.30, giving the trainees time to relax before casting off, and the open sea.
I took my harness off and returned to the aft deck. Alain, Rafael, was still there, leaning against the rail. ‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘You looked like someone who’d rather be climbing. Me too.’
‘One of the downsides of officer rank.’ My trainees had disappeared forrard. I kept facing out towards the main deck, as if I was still watching them.
‘I’m only doing it for the money.’ I could hear he was smiling. ‘I have a boat. I’m fitting her out to go round the world.’
‘It all costs,’ I agreed. Something inside me twisted. That was what we’d planned all those years ago: the Atlantic crossing to see if we were up to it, then start again and go down Africa, work our way around, continent-hopping. We’d been young and daft. ‘What do you have?’
‘A Vancouver 34. Cutter-rigged.’
‘That’ll take you round the world, all right.’
He shifted against the rail so that he was looking at my face. ‘When I’ve finished the work on her. She needs the lot: new rigging, new sails, the engine stripped right down. You’re a live-aboard yourself, Jenn was saying?’
I nodded.
‘Your boat’s in Shetland?’
‘Yes.’
He paused, looking at me quizzically. ‘Is this personal, or doesn’t your cop boyfriend let you even talk to other guys?’
I shoved myself off the rail and glared at him. ‘I’m naturally taciturn, and I don�
��t like being gossiped about.’
He straightened up, and raised his hands in a Hey, cool it gesture. I remembered the way I used to stand leaning against him, with his chin just the right height to rest on the top of my head, and felt tears prick my eyes. I turned away hastily, hunching my shoulder at him as if I was in a huff.
‘The information about the boat came before the information about the boyfriend,’ he said. ‘If that makes it any better.’
Damn him for being so cool about it! I’d spent eleven years thinking I’d killed him, and he strolled in just like this … ‘Slightly,’ I conceded. If I’d been off duty I’d have stalked off, but I couldn’t do that with Captain Sigurd’s eye on me.
‘What is she?’
That was easier. I kept my voice offhand. A Vancouver out-ranked my Khalida both in length and kudos. ‘A Van de Stadt production model, an Offshore 8m.’
‘I know the one. Shortcuts taken on the joinery, but a good, solid hull laid up in the days before they knew just how thin they could stretch glass fibre. Where do you keep her?’
‘She’s in Shetland now.’ He didn’t react to the name. ‘Brae, my home port.’
His eyes flickered, but he didn’t reply. Whatever game he was playing, I wasn’t joining in.
‘That’s my watch ready to move aft.’
I walked away, leaving him standing there, and felt his eyes on my back, thoughtful, all the way down the steps.
We were all on duty for leaving Kristiansand. Our white ship motored across the harbour, where the sunlight gleamed on the white bridge and red roofs, and cast golden ripples on the curved wooden overhang of the opera house. We came through the channel to where the shore became wave-polished rock, with twisted rowans thrusting their roots down into crevices of seaweed-rich earth. The white lighthouses blinked from under scarlet conical hats.
Death on a Shetland Isle Page 2