High Water (1959) Read Online Free PDF Page B

very busy these days, y’know.’ He watched as his launch crept alongside. ‘Glad you had a good trip. Might see you again some time.’ And with a wave he was gone.
    The
Pursuit
had sighted another yacht making for the estuary, flying the yellow flag, and made off to investigate.
    Vivian snorted impatiently. What had become of his old, devil-may-care attitude? All these fanciful imaginings were beginning to be a little ridiculous, he decided. Damn the Customs, they always made him feel like that anyway. And with a further contemptuous glance at Cooper, who was busy filing his nails, he flung his full concentration into piloting his boat into the Thames fairway.
    For the purpose of easy access to the West End of London, he eventually managed to berth his boat off Chelsea pier, and as he stood in the boat’s tiny dinghy, making sure that the mooring lines to the buoy were quite secure, he wrinkled his nose disapprovingly at the smell of mud, petrol, and coal dust, and reached up for Cooper’s suitcases.
    He felt a childish surge of pleasure at the sight of two large oil smears on the white trousers.
    ‘Here, steady on! Don’t drop those cases in the water!’
    ‘Well, I’m in a hurry,’ barked Vivian. ‘I must get to your office before it closes. I want to see Felix Lang.’
    They rowed to the pier in silence, and after a word with the piermaster, they eventually captured the attention of a prowling taxi, and made for Regent Street.
    As Vivian had feared, the lobby of the travel bureau was deserted when they arrived, and only one girl was at the back of the counter. She looked up questioningly as the ill-assorted pair hurried in.
    ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Lang’s gone out,’ she said quickly, looking at the little man with ill-disguised dislike.
    Cooper shrugged. ‘Well that does it, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow, I guess.’
    Vivian leaned across the counter, to where the girl had resumed making up her face in readiness for leaving.
    ‘Er, look, miss,’ he started. ‘Where can I find him? Could you let me have his private ’phone number?’
    She stopped her preparations, and studied him, liking what she saw.
    ‘Well, if it’s all that urgent,’ she smiled, ‘I can tell you, he’s gone round to Mr. Mason’s flat for a drink.’
    ‘I don’t think I know Mr. Mason,’ said Vivian carefully. ‘Have you got that number here?’
    ‘Oh yes, Mr. Mason’s a co-director,’ said the girl airily, relieved that she was being allowed to go home at last. She scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘Here, this is it. Help yourself.’ She nodded to a telephone.
    Vivian picked up the instrument, and turned to speak to Cooper. He had apparently vanished. Shrugging, he dialled the number, and impatiently tapped his fingers, wondering what he would say when Lang answered.
    ‘Lang speaking. Who’s that?’ The voice was brisk.
    ‘Hallo, Felix, it’s Phillip,’ he paused, and there was the sound of a door shutting.
    ‘What the devil! Where are you speaking from? Is everything all right?’
    ‘I’m in your office. I came back to London so that we could have a little chat,’ he let the words sink in. ‘I’m a bit worried about something.’
    ‘Well, don’t discuss it now, old boy, come straight round here and have a drink. Seven, Stafford Court, off Curzon Street.’ He paused, and when he spoke again, he sounded anxious. ‘But everything did go off all right, didn’t it?’
    ‘Yes. Too damn well for my liking, Felix. That’s why I want that little talk.’
    ‘Well, all right, hurry on round.’
    Nodding to the girl, Vivian hurried out of the building, feeling in his pocket for a taxi fare. Lang was rattled all right. Well, we shall see, he mused.
    As he waited for the chromium-plated lift in the expensive hall of Stafford Court, one of the most exclusive blocks of flats in the West End, he tried again to fit Lang into the picture. How big was this thing, and how long had it been going on?
    The