by Bev Robitai
She entered the revolving doors and stopped, entranced. A glassed-in entry hall rose above her, filled with brightly coloured silk and paper kites in all shapes and sizes catching the sunlight as they swung in the air. In front of her, escalators carried shoppers down to the next floor, where she found she could look right down the central atrium to the food hall at the bottom level. Above her, several more floors of shops extended in tiers up towards an arched glass roof that extended like a crystal cathedral for two city blocks.
She closed her mouth with a snap and began to explore.
A store selling leather clothes caught her eye, and she paused to finger a suede jacket hanging on a rack at the door. Instantly, a handsome young salesman popped out to engage her in conversation.
‘Hi, how are you?’
‘Good, thanks!’ she replied cheerfully.
He eyed her appraisingly.
‘I’ll bet you are!’
She burst out laughing at this unexpected response and beat a hasty retreat. Her budget didn’t run to leather-wear anyway.
When she slowed down, she found herself outside a photo-lab, where she automatically stopped to check out the pictures in the window. A bold advert caught her attention, telling customers to get their photos printed on a T-shirt. She considered the possibilities, then went inside and pulled the picture from her jeans pocket.
‘I’d like this on a T-shirt, please.’
The clerk looked dubious. ‘It’s kinda grainy, don’t you have anything clearer?’
‘No, it’s off a TV picture. Go ahead, I think it’ll be recognisable enough for what I want.’
He shrugged and made the copy, then heat-pressed it onto the shirt she chose.
After paying for it, she sought out a rest-room and put it on. It felt strange, having Colwyn Symons’ picture emblazoned across her chest, but she was sure it would help her locate him once she found the marina. Someone down there would be bound to recognise him sooner or later.
As she left the lower end of the Eatons Centre, the humidity hit hard. Within minutes, her crisp new shirt was clinging damply to her breasts. She pulled it free, and headed down towards the lake.
Passing under several huge concrete bridges humming with traffic, she couldn’t repress a shudder at their impact on the environment. She could imagine that there might have been grassy fields there once, rich with wild flowers and trees. Now, dusty weeds struggled to survive beneath the shadow of the expressway.
Her spirits rose once she neared the lake shore and saw the first yacht marina ahead of her. Adrenaline surged through her limbs and her heart beat faster. As she approached the rows of sleek white cruisers, she felt she could take on the world. At last, she would get to grips with the guy she’d flown halfway round the world to find. And then, watch out!
She started walking along each dock, checking the names on every boat, searching eagerly for the Angel Lady that was pictured in vivid colour across her chest.
The sun rose higher. The day grew hotter. The humid air was heavy with the smell of fuel and lake water.
After several hours, Robyn’s pace slowed to a plod, then stopped. She sank onto the wooden rail at the edge of the dock and fanned herself with her hat.
‘You OK, honey?’
A woman’s head popped up in the boat next to her, followed by leathery brown limbs and the brightest pink towelling jump-suit Robyn had ever seen. She smiled weakly.
‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks - just a bit hot, eh. Not used to it yet.’
‘Well hey, you want a cold drink? Come aboard, I’ve got plenty.’ She patted the cockpit seat invitingly.
The lure of a drink was more than Robyn could resist. She slid aboard, and accepted a cool can of soda with deep gratitude.
‘Where you from, honey?’
‘New Zealand, I just flew in yesterday.’
‘Noo Zealand? That’s er, that’s…’
‘Near Australia,’ Robyn finished for her.
‘Oh right, yeah, I saw Crocodile Dundee - what a hoot! You get many crocodiles round your way?’
‘Not in New Zealand, no. We have a few native birds, that’s all. Nothing dangerous - except some of the people.’ Robyn took a drink. ‘That’s kind of why I’m here - I’m looking for a New Zealand guy who came over recently and bought a boat here in Toronto.’ She pulled out the photo. ‘His name’s Colwyn Symons. You wouldn’t happen to have seen him around, would you?’
‘No, I can’t say that I have. Cute looking guy though. Sweet on him, are you?’
‘Well, er…’
‘Look at you! Of course you are, you’ve got his picture right there on your shirt! Oh that’s so adorable! Look, if I see him around, I’ll tell him you’re looking out for him. D’you have a number?’
‘No! That is - don’t tell him I’m here, I’d really like it to be a surprise. He has no idea I’m in the country, and I just want to catch him, er, at the right moment.’
‘Sure honey, surprise him, that sounds great. Oh that’s just so cute! I’ll bet the two of you have such a good time together, both so blonde and good-looking.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘My Marvin’s no oil painting, but he’s a good man and that’s what counts, I guess. Well I hope you find your Colwyn soon. Hey, why don’t you try the marina office? They’ll probably know where to find him. It’s along about a mile and a half that way, a blue and white building next to the boat ramp.’
Robyn thanked her and set off eagerly to follow the directions she’d been given, certain that she’d soon get to grips with Colwyn Symons and deal out what he deserved. Rested, refreshed and refuelled, she was sparking with nervous energy demanding to be released.
CHAPTER 3
Colwyn Symons spent an hour in the gym before lunch, lifting carefully-selected weights to sculpt his muscles in just the right way. He paid Harry the building attendant a little extra to wipe down each piece of equipment before he used it, to avoid the horror of sliding around on other people’s sweat. He also paid Harry to do a number of potentially distasteful jobs that needed doing in the course of his business deals. Harry was happy to get the cash, and Colwyn suspected that he actually enjoyed some of the rougher tasks he had to undertake.
Right now, Harry hung around with a handful of clean towels, waiting for the next changeover.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Symons? Need any errands run?’
‘No thanks, Harry - everything’s going pretty smoothly right now. I’ll let you know when I need you.’
The flesh round Harry’s eyes creased in an unappealing grin. ‘Sure thing, Mr. Symons.’
As Colwyn was leaving the gym after his session, he called Harry over, trying to ignore the grease-stained collar and food spots on his shirt.
‘Actually there is one thing you could do for me, Harry. Go down to my boat and turn over the engine a few times to make sure it starts easily, and air out the bilge fumes. I’m taking some clients out later.’
‘Sure, I’ll do that for you. What time do you need her ready by?’
‘About four. We’re just going out on the harbour for a couple of hours, so I can show them what a good time a wise investor can have. It’s always easier to impress people when things go smoothly.’
‘No problemo, Mr Symons, she’ll be purring like a kitten for you at the first touch of the button.’
‘I’d expect nothing less.’ Colwyn nodded for emphasis and made his exit.
Back at the lakefront, Robyn found the marina office with little difficulty, but was baulked by the unhelpful attitude of the paunchy man behind the counter.
‘We can’t give you information on our clients, it’s a breach of confidence.’
Robyn privately thought he’d been watching too many TV law shows, but knew it would be counter-productive to say so. She tried another approach.
‘Look, I really do need to find him, rather quickly.’ She looked down coyly. ‘It’s a matter of some… urgency.’
‘Not a chance, lady. We get all
kinds of people saying things like that. If you want to contact the guy, use the phone. There’s a booth over yonder. Now if you’ll excuse us, it’s lunch time and the office is now closed.’
Robyn saw a spotty youth that she hadn’t noticed before sitting at a computer behind the counter. He looked up and shrugged.
She left with some annoyance, and sat down on a nearby bollard to plan her next move.
After a few minutes, the office door opened and the paunchy man left. Robyn grinned. The spotty youth would be much easier to deal with.
As soon as the older man was out of sight she hurried back to the office and tapped on the door. The pimply one looked up and shook his head, pointing to his watch. Robyn tapped again, and smiled winsomely. Reluctantly, he levered himself away from the computer and came to the door.
‘We’re closed, ma’am’ he called. ‘Come back at two o’clock.’
Robyn tapped again. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I only want to ask you a question. It won’t take long.’
He opened the door suspiciously, just a crack, allowing Robyn to push it further open and ease herself inside.
‘That’s better. Now, what’s your name?’
‘Steve. But you can’t…’
‘It’s all right, Steve,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to get you into any trouble. All I want to do is find out where Colwyn Symons keeps his boat. That’s not too hard for you to do, is it? I’m sure it’s all right there on your clever computer. It’s a nice boat, Steve - look, I’ve got a picture of it here on my T-shirt. See?’ She pulled the shirt tight across her curvaceous breasts, and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in a convulsive gulp. ‘You can find that information for me, can’t you Steve? Hm?’
‘Yeah, yeah, all right.’ He scurried over to the computer and tapped at the keys. ‘Colin Simons?’
‘No, Colwyn, and Symons with a ‘y’.’
He tapped again. ‘Ah here it is.’ His eyes narrowed craftily. ‘Berth number 217.’
‘Thank you Steve! That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
Robyn flicked up her T-shirt and flashed him a quick look at her breasts as a reward, then hurried out of the door to find berth 217.
As she left the office, a tattered tramp reeled away towards a litter bin and began to rummage through it. Robyn spared him a sympathetic look as she ran towards the far end of the marina. She’d already searched berths 1 to 95, so if she ran twice as far, she should be close to 217. The painted numbers on the edges of the docks climbed, until she was certain she was on the right dock at last. 210, 215, almost there… She stopped. Berth 217 was occupied by a bright red sailing boat, not a white cruiser.
‘Why that little twerp!’ she burst out. It seemed she’d been double-crossed. The air turned blue for several minutes as she muttered exactly what she thought of Steve and what she’d do to him when she caught up with him again.
For lack of anything better to do, she knocked on the cabin-top of the red yacht. A tall man with a wind-browned face unfolded himself into the cockpit.
‘Hi there, are you looking for someone?’
‘Yes, I am. Is this your usual berth? I was told the boat I’m looking for is in berth 217, but this isn’t it.’
‘Pity,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Which section of the marina do you need, because there are three hundred berths in each section. Your 217 may be in one of the others.’
Her face fell. ‘I thought I wasn’t getting the whole story. Damn, I’ll just have to go try the other sections. Sorry to bother you.’
‘Sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’ He smiled hopefully.
‘No, but thanks anyway, it’s kind of you to offer.’
‘Well good luck!’
She waved her thanks, and trudged back along the dock.
By the time she reached the shore, she realised she was desperately hungry and hadn’t eaten since her early breakfast. She needed lunch for the energy to carry on with her quest, so she headed back towards the city to find a café, navigating by aiming for the slender spire of the CN tower.
Halfway there she turned to look back at the lake to see how far she’d walked. It was a big city, and the distances surprised her. Some way back, a tramp had paused to scratch at something inside his coat, and Robyn frowned. It was awful the way these people had nowhere else to go but the streets. There seemed to be a lot more of them in Toronto than she’d ever seen back home in New Zealand. She carried on walking, conscious of her stomach growling a protest at its empty state.
By the time she found somewhere to eat, she was almost faint with hunger, and a hamburger seemed like the food of the gods. The second one was just as nice, and the extra fries went down really well. But the third one she’d ordered turned out to be beyond her capacity, though it seemed a shame to waste it. She wrapped it up and shoved it in her pocket, then braved the damp heat outside.
A camera shop on the far side of the road caught her eye, and she went to cross the street to investigate. She glanced quickly to the right, and stepped off the curb. There was a squeal of brakes from the left, and suddenly something soft pushed her sideways into the gutter. When she scrambled to her feet, she saw what looked like a pile of old rags lurching quickly away. The car that had almost run her down hooted as it drove off, and she realised that she would have stepped right into its path if the beggar hadn’t shoved her aside. She’d completely forgotten about traffic coming from the wrong direction.
She ran after the tramp, tapping him gingerly on the shoulder.
‘Hey, thank you, you saved my life!’
He muttered something incomprehensible, but she thought she saw a gleam of intelligence in his grey eyes before he turned away.
‘Here, can I at least give you something?’ She pulled the burger out of her pocket. ‘It’s a bit squashed but it’s still warm - you’re very welcome to have it if you’re hungry.’
He turned and grabbed it then shuffled off, disappearing down a side alley.
Robyn stared after him, shaking her head. So many vagrants in such a beautiful city, it just didn’t seem fair. They’d probably lost their money to sharks like Colwyn Symons and were destined to live their miserable lives in cardboard boxes while he swanned around in fancy boats that could have fed all the city’s homeless for a month.
It suddenly occurred to her that Colwyn was very probably setting up similar scams in Toronto to the ones he’d used in New Zealand, and that at this very moment he could be talking some poor pensioners into parting with their nest egg. Spurred by the thought, she wheeled round and headed back to the marina to get on with the search.
This time she was sure she’d narrowed it down to the right area and the right dock. In a few minutes, she’d be aboard the Angel Lady and giving her quarry the fright of his life.
Colwyn Symons jumped lightly aboard the Angel Lady and looked around approvingly. Everything was tidy, cushions neatly lined up, wrinkles smoothed, woodwork polished. He dipped a cloth in some mild detergent and wiped over all surfaces that hands might have touched, especially the ship’s wheel. He checked his watch, then went below to make sure the bar fridge was well-stocked. He kept something for every taste there, from crisp dry Chardonnay to sweet wine spritzers, bottled beers to spirit mixers. Juice and soda pop for the abstemious, whisky and gin for the hard drinkers, he could please any guest. He prided himself on his attention to detail, knowing it was the little things that made the difference. People could be relied on to make their choices on the flimsiest of emotional responses - it was like buying a house just because there was a pretty tree in the front garden, or a car because it was the right colour to match a dress. He could make people choose his investment plans just by tailoring the occasion to their particular needs. His skill was what earned him the big bucks.
It was almost four. He used breath spray, and checked his hair. There was a tentative call from the dock.
‘Mr. Symons? Are we too early?’
Colwyn bounded
up on deck, shaking hands and helping the silver-haired couple on board with the minimum of fuss and maximum charm.
‘Wonderful to see you Alan, come and sit here. Kate, you look blooming, how do you manage it with everything you do? Sit yourself down, and I’ll get you a cool drink. What would you like?’
He soon had them laughing and at their ease, ready for a short ride on the lake. The weather was perfect, sunny with just a light breeze, and the water was busy with sailboats of every size providing an attractive background. Once his guests were settled with their drinks, he pressed the starter button on the polished wooden dashboard, and was pleased to hear an immediate response from the powerful engines below. A puff of blue smoke jetted from the exhaust, and he reached across the cockpit to let go the mooring ropes.
In the distance, a slim figure ran along the dock.
He tweaked the throttle, enjoying the throaty roar that promised full performance. The boat started to move. Behind him, the lithe blonde figure was nearer, still running at full speed.
Colwyn raised his glass in a toast to his guests, making sure their attention was on him. This was their moment. He opened the throttle and the boat surged forward with a roar towards the sparkling waters of the lake.
‘Here’s to a great day out,’ he called over the noise of the engine. ‘Let’s have some fun. I’ll take you round the islands and we’ll see where the other rich people live!’
Behind them, the sound of Robyn’s running feet and her despairing headlong plunge off the dock went completely unnoticed. The boat wake gurgled and frothed in a graceful curve as they sped across the waves.
Sudden immersion in cold water shocked Robyn out of her blind fury. She spat diesel-flavoured water, wiped her lips, and paddled in place for a few moments while she collected her thoughts. Actually the lake felt quite refreshing after her long day in the sun, but she was furious that Colwyn Symons had got away just when she’d caught up with him at last. Still, at least she knew where to find him now.