‘When you get out on the river, it gives you a sort of perspective on everything you’re involved in on land,’ Roger says reflectively as he takes us out into the channel leading between the docks and the opposite headland. ‘I seem to see things more clearly when I’m afloat.’
‘Really? Well, I could do with some of that.’
‘Problems?’
‘Just a few. But none I want to talk about.’
He chuckles. ‘Understood. We’ll just let the river work its magic.’
And that turns out to be exactly what the river does. As we cruise gently up the estuary, the serenity of the surroundings begins to seep into me. The trees grow low to the water’s edge. The fields are small and rounded, the inlets silvery and inviting.
We pass a couple of sail-powered oyster dredgers and a tourist boat coming down from Truro. Nothing moves quickly or noisily. The river leads us slowly on.
The estuary is more extensive than I’d have imagined. I see the King Harry ferry crossing ahead of us and, beyond it, tankers moored in the river, ‘waiting for an uptick in the oil business’, according to Roger. Their hulls loom over us like cliffs as we cruise past them.
Thanks to the state of the tide, Roger explains, we can take a look at the upper reaches of the river that are so often mudbound. He seems quite excited at the prospect.
The banks close in as we follow the river’s meanders. The woods are thick around us now. Signs of habitation are few. But there’s one plain stone cottage sitting close to the water that Roger points out to me. The undergrowth around it is thick and tangled. There’s an adjacent barn with a hole in its roof. I guess the place is unoccupied.
‘The cottage is accessible by water for only a couple of hours around high tide,’ says Roger. ‘By road … well, there’s just a rough track for a mile or so from the nearest road. I walked along to it once, just to see what there was, having seen it several times from the river.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Nothing much. It’s maintained to some degree and furnished, as far as I could see. No idea who owns it. Kolonn Drogh, it’s called. Cornish for broken heart.’
‘That sounds sad.’
‘It does, doesn’t it? What the story is I don’t know. Joe might, but …’
‘Joe Roberts?’
‘Yes. I saw him here a few weeks ago, gazing out at the river from the field above the house. There.’ He points to a weed-choked meadow behind the cottage. ‘He didn’t see me. I had some students with me at the time. He paid us no attention at all. When I mentioned it to him later, he said he might – might, mind you – have been walking in the area. But I don’t know. You can never really tell with Joe.’ Roger smiles. ‘That’s one of the things that makes him so good at Go. There’s a pattern to what he does, to the plays he makes. You know there is. But you can’t see what it is until, suddenly …’
‘You’ve lost?’
‘Well, let’s just say you realize you’re likelier to lose than you thought you were a few seconds earlier. It’s not a pleasant realization.’ He laughs. ‘Though I’ve gotten used to it.’
‘Do you know Conrad Vogler, Roger?’
He looks round at me sharply, eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘Joe works for him, I’m told. You know him?’
‘No. Jeremy mentioned him, actually. He showed me a photograph of Joe’s father. Conrad Vogler was in the photograph with him.’
‘Jeremy? Ah well, he seems to enjoy digging up nuggets of local history. He’s mentioned Vogler’s partnership with Joe’s father to me as well. Though I must say I’m impressed by how quickly you’ve picked all this up.’
‘I can’t seem to stop people telling me things.’
‘No.’ He nods. ‘Evidently not.’
We’ve drifted past Kolonn Drogh now. The creek stretches on ahead, the water glistening in the low-angled sun. Roger studies his watch.
‘Time to turn back, I’m afraid,’ he announces. ‘Otherwise we’ll pass the point of no return.’ He grins. ‘Tidally speaking, that is.’
We cruise back down the river and round into Restronguet Creek, where we tie up at the quay beside the thatch-roofed Pandora Inn. It’s warm enough to sit outside with our drinks and we stay out there for lunch. The setting’s ridiculously picturesque. That and Roger’s company do a good job of helping me forget the disaster my trip to Cornwall’s turned into. At least for a few hours, it doesn’t really seem to matter.
Roger talks about Hong Kong and marine biology and Go, which he still can’t quite believe I’m interested in. ‘If you didn’t grow up with it, I’m not sure how you ever really get to grips with it. My father introduced me to it, just as his father introduced him to it and his father before him.’
‘How does that apply to the other members of the club?’
‘Oh, they all have their own story.’
‘What’s Joe’s story?’
‘Ah, well, Joe’s different, naturally. I gather he was something of a chess prodigy. But then, according to Jeremy, someone told him Go was more difficult than chess. It’s not strictly true, though Go’s certainly more complex in its strategic possibilities. Anyway, once Joe tried it, he was hooked. Apparently. And now he’s …’
I look at Roger enquiringly. ‘Yes?’
‘Now he’s very good.’
‘Just very good? Or better than that?’
Roger sits back in his chair and gazes out across the still, twinkling water of the creek. ‘I’m not sure exactly. As far as Go is concerned, Joe is an enigma. By design, I sense. But then …’ He looks back at me. ‘We all have our secrets, don’t we?’
It’s mid-afternoon when we leave the Pandora. The weather’s still fine, though turning cool. As we cruise south towards Falmouth, I can’t stop my mind focusing on the problems that are waiting for me there. Roger seems to notice the sombre turn in my mood.
‘If there’s any help you need while you’re here, Nicole – with anything, really – you only have to ask, you know.’
‘That’s kind. But … I can cope.’ What I’ve told him about why I’m in Falmouth amounts to little more than the cover story I gave Ursula. But I’m not sure he quite believes flogging a new Venstrom system is all there is to it.
‘I don’t doubt it. But sometimes there’s an easier way of doing things that’s only obvious to a neutral observer.’
We smile at each other. ‘I’ll bear the offer in mind.’
‘Do.’ He nods ahead. ‘Your boss come down to check up on you, Nicole?’
I follow his gaze. There’s a sleek-hulled super-yacht moored ahead of us off Castle Point, at the entrance to St Mawes Harbour, all silvery steel and tinted glass. It wasn’t there when we left this morning.
I laugh at Roger’s suggestion. ‘My boss doesn’t own anything like that.’
‘Really? Isn’t Billy Swarther in the multi-billionaire bracket?’
‘I meant my boss in London. I guess Billy might own something like that. But it’s likelier to be moored in the Bahamas than Carrick Roads.’
‘Who does own it, I wonder,’ Roger muses. ‘Someone extremely rich, that’s for sure.’
‘Well, if you get an invitation to go aboard, I’ll be happy to tag along.’
‘And I’ll be happy to ask you to. I’ve really enjoyed today.’ He smiles at me warmly and, as far as I can tell, genuinely.
‘Me too.’ Which is also genuine.
But reality awaits on dry land. Roger’s heading home. I’m heading back to Tideways. We part and I walk up through the crowds in the centre of town alone, wondering what kind of answer Carl might have had by now from Vogler.
I’m hardly through the door at Tideways before I realize something’s wrong. Hazel the waitress is there with Ursula, talking in an anxious gabble. I catch the word ‘hospital’ and guess there’s been some kind of accident. They confirm that as soon as they see me.
‘Liz has been in a car accident,’ Ursula explains. ‘Hazel’s just been telling me about it.’
‘They’ve had to operate,’ says Hazel, wringing her hands. ‘We don’t really know how bad it is.’
‘Apparently,’ Ursula goes on, ‘she was driving back along the by-pass when she lost control going down the hill towards the roundabout at the edge of town. It’s quite a steep slope on that section. She ploughed into a lorry.’
‘Brakes must have failed,’ says Hazel.
‘Or maybe she was ill,’ suggests Ursula. ‘We just don’t know.’
‘My God, this is awful,’ is all I can say. But it’s not all I think. In my mind I hear Vogler’s voice. Joe will suffer and his mother will suffer and, when I track you down, you’ll suffer too. Is this what he meant when he told Carl he’d give him his response within twenty-four hours? Or am I being paranoid?
‘It might not be as bad as it sounds,’ says Ursula consolingly. ‘We haven’t got any details.’
‘Where’s Joe?’
‘At the hospital,’ says Hazel. ‘He phoned me from there.’
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done except wait for news,’ says Ursula.
‘I’ve got to see to some things,’ says Hazel abstractedly. ‘She’d want everything to carry on as normal.’
‘We’re fine, Hazel.’ Ursula smiles at her. ‘Isn’t that right, Nicole?’
I nod in agreement and Hazel bustles off down the stairs to the family flat in the basement, leaving Ursula and me staring at each other in bemusement.
‘Terrible turn of events,’ she remarks after a brief silence.
‘Yes,’ is all I can say to that.
‘You look a bit shaken up, if you don’t mind me saying.’
I notice my hands are shaking and I wonder if Ursula’s noticed too. If so, she must be wondering why I’m reacting like this to an accident affecting someone I hardly know. ‘It’s, er, quite a shock.’
‘I thought of phoning the hospital, but I suspect they’ll tell me nothing.’
‘I have to sit down,’ I say. I stumble into the dining room and take the nearest chair.
‘This has really knocked you, Nicole.’ Ursula’s frowning down at me. I can see her mind working through the possibilities, none of which can make much sense to her.
‘I think I need to find out how badly Liz is injured.’ My voice sounds slightly quavery. ‘And how exactly it happened.’
‘You’d probably have to go to the hospital to stand much chance of learning what her condition is.’
I take a calming breath. ‘I’ll do that, then.’
‘You don’t look in any state to drive.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘No need. I’ll drive.’ She fixes me with a decisive look. ‘I’m anxious myself, goodness knows. Let’s just go and see what we can find out, eh? It’s better to be doing something than sitting around here wondering.’
I nod numbly. ‘That sounds good.’
Ursula reckons the part of the roundabout where Liz crashed will still be cordoned off, so the traffic will be a nightmare, with the rush hour well under way. But she knows a route that doesn’t touch the by-pass until later.
It seems to work. We’re soon out of Falmouth, heading north, none too fast, but faster than the southbound traffic, which is badly clogged. Ursula asks a few questions that I can tell are designed to elicit an explanation from me for my reaction to the news. Liz Roberts is just my landlady, after all. I deflect her as best I can with some stuff about what a nice woman Liz is. True, of course, but it’s not enough. Ursula knows it and I know she knows it.
My phone rings twice during the journey. It’s Carl both times. I don’t answer. Ursula notices that too. She must be very curious about my behaviour.
Treliske Hospital is on the outskirts of Truro. The car park, when we finally get there, looks full, with cars circling hopefully.
Ursula pulls into the set-down bay. ‘You go and find out what you can while I look for a space,’ she says. ‘I’ll catch up with you in there.’
‘OK.’ I jump out and head for the entrance, relieved she isn’t coming with me. I’d rather face Joe alone.
The directions they give me at main reception take me eventually to a ward where Liz is due to be transferred after surgery. No one can give me any details of her condition, nor any clear idea of how long it’s likely to be before she arrives there. The ward sister suggests I wait for news in a nearby seating area. As for Joe, she knows nothing about where he might be.
The corridor leading to the seating area is a backwater in the generally busy hospital. It looks to be deserted as I approach. But, turning a corner, I see there’s one person sitting there alone, staring into space.
It isn’t Joe.
‘Mr Forrester,’ I say, genuinely surprised, as well as uncertain, just for the moment, that it really is him. I didn’t see much of him when we spoke outside Tideways on Monday night.
He looks up and gives me a quizzical glance. ‘Miss Nevinson,’ he says. He’s wearing a rumpled suit and tie. His grey hair hangs over his forehead forlornly. He looks older than I first thought. Closer to seventy than sixty, I reckon. There’s something travel-worn about his weathered features. His expression is sorrowful but philosophical. His eyes are wary. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see how Liz – Mrs Roberts – is.’
‘That’s good of you.’
‘Is there any news?’
‘Part of the driver’s door pierced her lung. She lost quite a lot of blood. But she’s strong. She should be all right. Eventually, anyway. She’s going to be laid up here for a while.’
‘How did you hear about it?’
‘Joe phoned me.’
‘And where is Joe?’
‘Outside somewhere. Having a smoke, I expect. Or just breathing some non-hospital air. There was no point him staying here. When they do transfer Liz, she won’t be conscious.’
‘But you stayed.’
‘Yes.’ He smiles awkwardly. ‘Not sure why, really.’
‘I think I might try and find Joe.’
‘You seem to have got to know him quite well in the short time you’ve been in Falmouth.’
‘I went along to his Go club.’
‘And then you offered him some kind of job.’
‘He told you that?’
‘It cropped up while we were sitting here.’
‘Well, that doesn’t matter much in the circumstances, does it? His mother’s recovery is all that’s important.’
‘Of course.’ Forrester’s gaze is discomforting. He seems able to see inside me. ‘Although it’ll be important at some point to establish exactly what happened.’
‘Hazel said she lost control of her car on the by-pass running down into Falmouth.’
‘Liz isn’t somebody who loses control, Miss Nevinson.’
‘Please. It’s Nicole.’
‘OK. I’m Duncan. Thing is, Nicole, when I went out to the roundabout where it happened, I noticed there weren’t any skid marks. That suggests brake failure to me.’
‘I guess so.’
‘But Liz has her car serviced regularly by the garage I recommend my learners to use. So, brake failure really isn’t very likely.’
‘What, then?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Any idea which direction Joe went in?’ I’m eager to change the subject, little good though I suspect it’ll do me. Forrester’s on to something. And he doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who’ll be happy to drop it. ‘The grounds look pretty extensive.’
‘He won’t have gone far.’
‘OK. I’ll see if I can track him down.’
‘Tell him nothing’s changed here.’
‘I will.’ I turn to go.
‘Oh, Nicole—’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you spoken to Conrad Vogler about this job you’ve offered Joe?’
‘Well … yes.’
‘How did he react to the prospect of losing Joe’s services?’
‘He seemed … resigned, I
suppose.’
‘I see.’ Forrester’s expression doesn’t alter. But it’s obvious he’s unconvinced. ‘Well, always a man of business, Mr Vogler.’
‘Yes. Exactly. Now I really—’
‘It’s OK, Nicole. Don’t let me hold you up.’
It’s getting chilly outside as dusk falls. I check one way for Joe, then another, before I finally spot him in a small garden area, where he’s sitting on a bench. I’m surprised, but somehow not, to see he’s playing Go.
He looks up as I approach. ‘Nicole. Didn’t expect to see you.’
I sit down beside him. ‘Duncan said I’d find you out here.’
‘Has something happened in there?’ he asks, suddenly anxious.
‘No. Your mother’s in good hands.’
‘Like you know that for a fact?’ He sets the Go board down carefully on the bench beside him. ‘Sorry.’ He holds up one hand in apology. ‘Bit stressed.’
‘Does Go help?’
‘Always.’
‘Who’s winning?’
‘This game? Not sure yet. Ke Jie lost from this position against AlphaGo.’
‘Can you win?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You have a remarkable ability, Joe. You’re quite possibly unique.’
‘I’d trade that for Mum making a complete recovery.’
‘I’m sure she will.’
‘Couldn’t have happened at a worse time. How will I tell her now I’m leaving Falmouth?’
‘It may not be a coincidence.’
He looks sharply at me. ‘Come again?’
‘There’s something I have to tell you.’ I swallow hard. ‘About Conrad Vogler.’
‘What about him?’
‘Maybe I should have mentioned it when we left Admiral’s Reach last night, but I, er … didn’t really take it seriously.’ Didn’t I? Didn’t I really? ‘While we were alone, in his study, Vogler told me he wasn’t prepared to let you go and that I had to withdraw Venstrom’s offer. If I didn’t …’
‘Yeah? If you didn’t?’
‘He’d make you – and your mother – suffer.’
Joe’s face twists in disbelief. ‘He said that?’
One False Move Page 6