Gently in the Sun Read Online Free PDF

youth was working at the engine. They were bluff-bowed , deep-bodied, powerfully built little craft, not more than seventeen feet long but big and burly for their size. Each had an ‘S.H.’ registration board bolted to its gunwale and its name, with suitable flourishes, carved in its transom. There was the Girl Betty , the Boy Cyril , the We’re Here , and the Willing Boys . The white boat had a varnished name board and was called the Keep Going .
    Gently paused beside the latter, so utterly different was it from the others. Quite apart from the paint and the name board, it stood out as a separate species. It had a finish like a yacht. All the fittings were chromium plated. The paintwork had been built up until the surface resembled velvet, while the gunwale and the transom were of varnished teak that shone like glass.
    ‘Is this one a pleasure boat?’
    The youngster wiped his brow with a hand which left a greasy mark.
    ‘There isn’t a lot of pleasure in her!’
    ‘No … but does she go fishing?’
    ‘W’yes, that’s what she’s for.’
    ‘Then what was the idea of getting her up like this?’
    ‘You’d better ask Mr Dawes – it just happen he take a pride in his boat.’
    A wave of a spanner indicated the net store on the hill. Beside it was standing a tall fisherman with a white beard. He was leaning against one of the tarred posts from which the drying nets were slung; his eyes, staringout to sea, had the peculiar vacancy of seafaring men ashore.
    ‘He like to show off his money!’
    One of the fishermen spat contemptuously – the same man who had been showing the site of the tragedy to the photographer. He was a lean but powerfully built fellow of sixty or so. His face had a vindictive cast and his dark eyes looked angry.
    ‘Boats like mine aren’t good enough for Esau Dawes – did you ever see such truck on a longshore fishing boat? Next thing you know it’ll be gold-plated ringbolts!’
    ‘Shut you up, Bob!’ came from several of his mates.
    ‘Why should I shut up? I don’t owe nobody no money!’
    Gently hunched his shoulders and wandered over towards the gap. The Keep Going ’s owner paid him no attention as he passed by. Fifty yards further on sat the young artist with his easel; he held a brush between his teeth while he stroked vigorously with another. An old umbrella tied to a broom handle was keeping the glare of the sun from his work.
    ‘That’s Simmonds … you remember?’
    If he did, Gently made no reply. Like any other curious stroller he went up to see what was happening to the canvas. Simmonds, a taut-faced young man with reddish-gold hair, charged his brush nervously as he felt himself being overlooked. He was painting a beach-scape in rather sombre colours; he had perhaps noticed it and was now darkening his sky.
    ‘Do you sell any of your pictures?’
    Simmonds looked round quickly, flushing. He possessed wide hazel eyes which had an oddly vulnerable appearance. His lips made a perfect Cupid’s bow and the lower one trembled.
    ‘As a matter of fact I do!’
    He was forcing a hardness into his voice.
    ‘I’ve sold several pictures – I’m not entirely an amateur! Now, if you don’t mind, I prefer not to talk while I’m working.’
    ‘I thought I might buy one.’
    Simmonds seemed more upset than ever. He attacked his sky with an awkwardness that threatened to ruin everything. In the background his tent looked snug with its flaps neatly rolled and tied. One of the tracks which intersected the marrams passed close beside it on the way from the village.
    ‘What do you know about him?’
    Dyson was eager to supply information. It was the first time since they had left the guest house that Gently had shown the slightest curiosity.
    ‘His age is twenty-two. He comes from Cheapham but he’s living in Norchester. His mother is dead and he had a row with his father, who keeps a butcher’s shop in Cheapham. He works for an insurance firm in Norchester, but his head is