by Ann Bridge
At this juncture a large powerful motor-cruiser, manned by three men in blue berets, which Reeder had noticed coming up the coast astern of them for some time, behaved very clumsily, passing them far too close, and to windward.
Now the rule of the sea still is that ‘steam (or petrol) gives way to sail’—i.e. that vessels under their own power yield passage to sailing-boats, dependent on the wind. Philip Reeder was indignant; he had to go about to get the wind again.
‘Take the name of that boat! Damned motorists!’ he said angrily.
‘She doesn’t seem to have a name, only a number,’ Julia said; she was swabbing down the deck.
‘Well take that. One must report this sort of thing.’
‘I have. Y.J. 631. I think they were just ignorant,’ the girl said. She saw with dismay the Oban steamer approaching up the Sound—owing to this contretemps it looked as if they were going to be late for their appointment.
‘Then go and write it down,’ Philip commanded. ‘Colin, go and help with the jib—we shall have to go about again.’
Julia obediently skittered down the steep companion-ladder and entered the letters and figures in her engagement-diary. Poor Captain Benson, looking very green, lay on one of the seats in the saloon, his eyes closed; she went on deck again.
Once in Tobermory harbour they cast anchor, never a rapid process. By the time they had done so the steamer from Oban was pulling in to the quay.
‘Let’s put the dinghy down and get ashore, quick,’ Julia said to Colin. As they began to lower the dinghy over the side their skipper came and addressed them.
‘What are you two up to?’
‘Julia wants to meet a boy-friend off the Oban steamer,’ Colin said, grinning, as the small boat splashed into the water. ‘Hell! Where are the steps?’
The steps were found, and the two cousins rowed furiously across to the high stone-built quay; they tied their tiny craft to an iron ring, ran up a flight of wet steps, and walked along the broad quay and street combined, looking for the tweed-shop. ‘Goodness, can he have moved?’ Julia said anxiously. ‘It used to be this way.’
The tweed-shop hadn’t moved, and soon they found it; but they were not in time; Colonel Jamieson was sauntering along the pavement outside it, and presently turned in.
‘What a curse!’ Colin muttered. ‘Now we shall have no idea which pub Robertson tells him to go to.’
‘Can’t we follow him?’
‘I suppose we shall have to.’ He looked up and down along the unusual street, with shops on one side and water on the other; barely a hundred yards away three men in blue berets were walking in their direction.
‘There are those types off the motor-boat. I don’t like this,’ Colin said. ‘Do you suppose they did that deliberately?’
‘No, I think they’re just ignorant. Don’t be so suspicious, Colin.’
‘Well, let’s go in at once and contact Jamieson.’
‘Then where shall we talk?’
‘Oh, you can fix something. Don’t call him by his name, though.’
They went into the shop. Colonel Jamieson had already caused a display of Harris tweeds to be spread out on a counter; he was fingering them carefully, and discussing their merits with the proprietor.
‘You can watch the door, and tell me if those creatures do come in,’ Julia murmured in her cousin’s ear; then she strolled up, very casually, to the counter draped with tweeds.
‘Mr. James! How extraordinary to meet you here!’ she exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing in Tobermory?’
The proprietor looked on with satisfaction. For a customer to meet a friend in his shop is usually good for trade.
‘Just a little tour of the Highlands,’ the Colonel replied; the faintest of winks, almost imperceptible, showed her that he had registered ‘Mr. James’ as his name in Tobermory. ‘You, apparently, are yachting with your relations as usual,’ he added, with a glance at her clothes.
‘Yes. You must come and meet them—I don’t think you have, yet. But don’t let me interfere with your purchases. Which of these lovely tweeds are you going to buy?’
‘Well how do you like this?’ He raised a loop of a rather loud check.
‘Oh no— much too conspicuous. Why don’t you have this one? The water-lily blue?’ She held up a length of a quite plain tweed, the colour of acquamarine mixed with chinese white.
‘Why do you call it “water-lily”?’ the Colonel asked, genuinely surprised.
‘The dye is made from the roots of wild water-lilies, Sir,’ Mr. Robertson put in. ‘They make it in North Uist. The lady seems to know about tweeds.’ Julia realised, with relief, that the shopkeeper had failed to recognise her, or at least to recall her name.
Colonel Jamieson bought enough of the water-lily tweed for a country suit; while it was being measured and parcelled up Julia went over to Colin at his stance by the door.
‘Are they anywhere about?’
‘No, they’ve gone into a pub.’
‘Well when he’s got his tweed I thought we might potter along that path round the head of the bay and get our talking over there, instead of a pub, and then take him aboard for supper. If Philip takes to him, he might make less fuss about going back to the Erinishes.’
This plan was put into operation. The Colonel, his rather large parcel of tweed under his arm, greeted Colin only with a grin as they emerged from the shop, and the three of them walked casually down the quay-cum-street, and turned off to the left along the narrow wooded pathway round the head of the bay.
‘Now, what is all this?’ the Colonel asked; there was a wooden bench beside the path, and they sat on it. ‘Exactly what have you seen?’
They told him—Julia left the narrative to Colin in the main. The Colonel lit a pipe, puffed, and considered.
‘You say this wireless aerial came straight up out of the ground?’ he asked at length.
‘Yes—barely five yards away from us. Painted blue—camouflage against both sea and sky! When it had gone down again we saw the metal socket that held it.’
‘And then you found the batteries?’
‘Yes—long-duration metal ones; the sort that only have to be renewed about once every six months.’
‘I know, Colin—you don’t have to tell me.’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
The Colonel puffed again at his pipe.
‘Well, obviously I have got to see all this,’ he said—‘though your descriptions are so admirably clear that I think I know already what this installation is, and its uses.’ He paused. ‘Do you think your brother-in-law will take me back to see it?’
Colin looked worried.
‘Philip is all set to go out to Heskeir to see Great Grey Seals,’ he replied unhappily.
‘Well, I suppose we could hire a boat to take us out there?’
‘Not so easy,’ Julia said—‘and surely the fewer who are in on this, the better? No. Come back and have supper on board, and make up to Philip; you don’t have to make up to Edina—though you’ll want to, no doubt!—she will agree to anything Colin asks, and in the end Philip will do anything she wants.’
‘Colin is very lucky,’ the Colonel said, knocking out his pipe on the edge of the bench. ‘So am I, in this instance.’
‘Sir, there is one thing that is bothering me,’ Colin said. ‘We have a man on board who was foisted on us by some neighbours of my sister’s, because he’s supposed to be mad on Shearwaters, which breed on those islands. But none of us really knows anything about him; he might have been planted, I thought.’
‘Name?’ the Colonel asked.
‘A Captain Benson. I thought perhaps you might want to put through a query.’
But the Colonel was laughing.
‘Oh, poor old Benson! No, he’s genuine enough—I’ve known about him and his birding all my life.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Dead sure.’
‘He perked up rather when Julia mentioned electronics,’ Colin said doubt
fully. The Colonel turned and looked rather sharply at the girl.
‘Why did you mention electronics?’ he asked.
‘Because he—Captain Benson—was talking about how Manx Shearwaters find their way across the ocean; he said they must have radar in their heads, and I said electronics. I don’t know in the least what the word means—it was simply to say something,’ Miss Probyn replied, quite unperturbed.
‘She was just mopping up the Captain—her usual occupation with men,’ Colin said, grinning a little. ‘Only he did perk up at the word, didn’t he, Julia?’
‘Yes, a bit. Only really I thought he was perking up at me for knowing it,’ Julia said frankly. Colonel Jamieson laughed out loud.
‘I gather your cousin is right in his assessment of your methods,’ he said. He turned to Colin. ‘I really don’t think you need worry about old Benson,’ he said. ‘He’s really rather famous as an ornithologist.’
‘Does he know you?—and what you do?’
‘No; we’ve never met.’
‘Well we’d better stick to “Mr. James”, I think,’ Julia said. ‘But we must worry about him to some extent, because unless we can get him off the boat, where is Colonel Jamieson to sleep? There are only five berths.’
‘There’s that wire hammock that lets down off the wall in the fo’c’s’le,’ Colin said.
‘But the mattress was thrown overboard because it smelt, and there are no blankets,’ his cousin observed.
‘Don’t worry—I brought a flea-bag in my kit. The fo’c’s’le hammock will do me perfectly,’ the Colonel said. ‘The only important thing is to persuade your Skipper to go back to these peculiar islands.’
‘Yes, well let’s go aboard and have supper, and settle all that,’ Julia said, getting up off the rather damp seat.
‘I’ve booked a room in the hotel here for tonight,’ Colonel Jamieson said. ‘So the hammock will only be wanted when we put to sea.’
As they walked back along the narrow path towards the road they met the three men in blue berets off the motor-cruiser; both Julia and Colin studied their faces carefully. Two were young, snub-nosed, and fair; the third man was older, with marks of smallpox round his jaw. This encounter led Colin to recount the small episode at the entrance to the Sound.
‘You got the boat’s name?’ the Colonel asked.
‘It’s number—it had no name,’ Julia said. ‘I’ve got it written down.’ She slapped her trouser pocket.
‘Well, that is something that might be gone into,’ Colonel Jamieson said, as they emerged onto the road. ‘Would there be time?’
Julia had been thinking, and spoke again.
‘Colin, I think you’d better row out and tell Edina that there’ll be one extra for supper, while the Colonel telephones. Then you can come back and fetch us.’
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ the young man asked.
‘Oh, my usual nosey-parkering!’ the girl said blithely, as they reached the wet sea-worn steps. ‘Breeze off, Colin.’
At his hotel the Colonel did some telephoning to a London number; Julia supplied him with the letters and figures ‘Y.J. 631’, but on the telephone he said, ‘Two letters: last but one and tenth—got that? Now three digits—sixth, third, and first. Right.’ Then he and Julia had a drink in the quiet and almost wholly deserted lounge.
‘How does one get to Loch Roag?’ he asked presently. ‘Do you know?’
‘Oh yes. It’s on the Atlantic side of The Long Island, Lewis and Harris, you know—Dun Carloway, that wonderful broch, is up there. If one wasn’t sailing one would take the steamer to Stornoway, and go on by car, I imagine. Why?’
‘If possible I should like to get there. We have had reports—rather vague—of an installation in that area. Since I am up here I thought I might look into it.’
‘Oh glory! I don’t know if we shall ever persuade Philip to go to Loch Roag. Still, we might try. Edina likes pre-history, and Callernish isn’t far off, as well as the broch.’
‘What is Callernish?’
‘Oh, the Stonehenge of the North—a great stone circle and avenue. It’s marvellous.’ She finished her drink, and got up.
‘We’d better go—Colin will be back at the quay by now.’ As they walked along towards the steps she said, laughing her slow laugh—‘By the way, you’re supposed to be a boy-friend of mine —that was the excuse Colin put up to Philip for our coming here.’
‘What an agreeable assignment! Shall you mind if I play my part? I should like to very much,’ he said, giving her a peculiarly engaging smile. Julia blushed a little.
‘Well so long as you don’t overplay it,’ she said.
Colin was waiting, and rowed them across to the yacht. On the way he informed them that the hammock trouble had already resolved itself—Captain Benson still felt very ill, and had decided to go home on tomorrow’s steamer. ‘So you’ll have a perfectly decent berth, if we can get Philip to go back to the Erinishes. You realise that he has no idea what we’ve found?’
‘I must decide whether I’d better tell him, after we’ve met,’ the Colonel said. ‘Does your sister know?’
Julia replied before Colin could speak. ‘She knows there’s something up, connected with Colin’s job; she half-guessed, and I had to tell her that he was on the job, so as to get to Inch-Ian to telephone.’ She paused. ‘And she knows that you’re not really my boy-friend,’ she added, laughing a little. Colin blushed.
‘Julia, you are silly.’
‘Not at all, my boy,’ the Colonel said. ‘One has to know what one’s role is, to play it properly.’ He gave Julia a glance which, to her vexation, made her blush a little too; her ready blushes always exasperated her, delightful as they were to the onlooker, staining her golden skin with a deep rose.
‘Colin, don’t row so fast,’ she now said. ‘How are we to get Philip to go back to the Erinish Islands? We must concert something, unless you come clean to him. If we say that Mr. James is mad on Shearwaters too he’ll drag him ashore on Erinish Mor, which is no good at all.’
The Colonel intervened—people were always preventing poor Colin from answering questions addressed to him.
‘Miss Probyn, suppose we leave this for the moment, till I have met Mr. Reeder, and made up my own mind as to what action to take about him. If I don’t think it advisable to “come clean”, as you so inelegantly call it, I could be an archaeologist who wants to inspect Cromwell’s forts.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Colin said. ‘Though mind you, there are forts on Erinish Mor too.’
‘That, I think, we could leave to your cousin, and your so co-operative sister.’
‘Well if we don’t want Philip to come ashore, he’ll probably be perfectly happy fiddling about with the boat,’ Colin said, as the dinghy drew alongside the Mary Hathaway.
‘Good. Meanwhile, I hope my non-girl-friend will insist on rowing me ashore tonight, so that we can talk?’
‘Oh very well. What fun to be a bogus girl-friend!’
Philip Reeder’s tall bearded figure loomed above them as Colin climbed on board.
‘Here you are at last—good.’ He held out a hand to Julia to help her up the steps. ‘This is my friend Mr. James,’ Julia said, as the Colonel scrambled up after her.
‘How do you do? Glad to see you. Come down and have a drink, and something to eat.’
‘Something to eat,’ was a splendid supper. Edina had gone buying at Inch-Ian to some purpose, and had scoured Lady MacIan’s garden; there were fresh green peas, roast ducks, and cream and stewed raspberries. Poor Captain Benson missed all this; he was supping Benger’s Food (laboriously made by his kind hostess) on the Skipper’s bunk. Colonel Jamieson and Philip Reeder got on splendidly; both had been ‘Desert Rats’ in the last war, and though they had not actually met they had endless friends in common, and discussed their experiences.
‘Why did you take to the Merchant Navy?’ Colonel Jamieson (or Mr. James) asked at one point.
‘Oh I love the sea�
��and I was on a charming run. What was your rank, by the way?’
‘Colonel.’
‘Oh. Funny—I never heard of a Colonel James.’
‘Why should you? Colonels were as the sand on the seashore,’ this Colonel said. Over coffee and Benedictine—very rarely produced on the Mary Hathaway, and a great sign of approval—Philip said,
‘Where are you going next? We couldn’t help you at all, I suppose? We’re just cruising; and as poor Benson has to leave us, there’s a spare bunk.’
Under the table Julia noiselessly clapped her hands.
‘Well really you could, very much,’ the Colonel replied. ‘I’ve always been something of an archaeologist, and since the War I’ve gone in for it quite a lot. I’m really up here because, in the first place, I want to see those Cromwellian forts on the Erinish Islands.’
‘Oh Lord! We’ve just been there.’
‘Oh, what a pity! It doesn’t seem very easy to persuade a boat here to take one out, and anyhow I gather there’s nowhere to sleep.’
‘Oh Philip, couldn’t we go back?’ Edina said. ‘I never got ashore there at all, or saw any Shearwaters; I was simply washing and cooking, as usual!’
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ her husband said, with unusual benignity. ‘Poor Edina!—you do have it rather hard. Could you start tomorrow?’ he asked his guest.
‘Darling, tomorrow we’re going to lunch with the MacAllens, come hell and high water!’ his wife said firmly. ‘I must sometimes see my friends, when we are up here. But the day after, Mr. James?’
‘That will do me perfectly,’ the Colonel said. ‘How exceedingly kind, Mrs. Reeder.’
In the long late twilight of the Highland summer Julia rowed Colonel Jamieson back to the quay, across the darkening waters towards the bright lights on the shore.
‘You’ve brought that one off,’ she said gaily. ‘Well done you! Keep at it with Philip and you may get him to take you to Loch Roag.’