Алистер Маклин - Circus

‘Has he told you?’ There was still a singular lack of warmth in Bruno’s voice.

‘He told me nothing. If I know Dr Harper he’ll probably tell you to tell me nothing either.’

‘I will do what you ask. Now that you’ve completed your business, we may as well get back. Three taxis for you, of course, rules are rules. I’ll take one straight back to the ship. It’s quicker and cheaper and the hell with the CIA.’

She reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm.

‘I have apologized. Sincerely. How long must I keep on doing it?’ When he made no answer she smiled at him and the smile was as her hand had been, tentative and uncertain. ‘You’d think a person who earns as much money as you do could afford to buy a meal for a working girl like myself. Or do we go Dutch? Please don’t leave. I don’t want to go back. Not yet.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. It’s – it’s just one of those obscure – I don’t know. I just want to make things right.’

‘ I was right. First time out. You are a goose.’ He sighed, reached out for a menu and handed it to her. He gave her an odd look. ‘Funny. I thought your eyes were dark. They’ve gone all brown. Dark, flecked brown, mind you, but still brown. How do you do it? Have you a switch or something?’

She looked at him solemnly. ‘No switch.’

‘Must be my eyes then. Tell me, why couldn’t Dr Harper have come and told me all this himself?’

‘It would have created a very odd impression if you two were seen leaving together. You never speak to each other. What’s he to you or you to him?’

‘Ah!’

‘With us it’s different. Or had you forgotten? The most natural thing in the world. I’m in love with you and you’re in love with me.’

‘He’s still in love with his dead wife.’ Maria’s voice was flat, neutral. Elbows on the guard-rail, she was standing on the passenger deck of the MC Carpentaria , apparently oblivious to the chill night wind, watching in apparent fascination but without really registering what she was seeing as the giant dockside cranes, with their blazing attached arc-lamps, swung the coaches inboard.

She started as a hand laid itself on her arm and a teasing voice said: ‘Who’s in love with whose wife, then?’

She turned and looked at Henry Wrinfield. The thin intelligent face, chalk-white in the glare of the arc-lamps, was smiling.

‘You might have coughed or something,’ she said reproachfully. ‘You did give me a fright, you know.’

‘Sorry. But I could have been wearing hobnailed boots and you wouldn’t have heard me above the racket of those damned cranes. Well, come out with it, who’s in love with who?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Love,’ Henry said patiently. ‘You were declaiming something about it when I came up.’

‘Was I?’ Her voice was vague. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. My sister says I talk non-stop in my sleep. Maybe I was asleep on my feet. Did you hear any other Freudian slips or whatever?’

‘Alas, no. My loss, I’m sure. What on earth are you doing out here? It’s cold and starting to rain.’ He had lost interest in the remark he’d overheard.

She shivered. ‘Day-dreaming. I must have been. It’s cold.’

‘Come inside. They have a beautiful old-fashioned bar aboard. And warm. A brandy will make you warmer.’

‘Bed would make me warmer still. Time I was there.’

‘You spurn a nightcap with the last of the Wrinfields?’

‘Never!’ She laughed and took his arm. ‘Show me the way.’

The lounge – it could hardly have been called a bar – had deep green leather armchairs, brass tables, a very attentive steward and excellent brandy. Maria had one of those, Henry had three and at the end of the third Henry, who clearly had no head for alcohol, had developed a distinct, if gentlemanly, yearning look about the eyes. He took one of her hands in his and yearned some more. Maria looked at his hand.

‘It’s unfair,’ she said. ‘Custom dictates that a lady wears an engagement ring when she is engaged, a wedding ring when she is married. No such duty devolves upon a man. I think it’s wrong.’

‘So do I.’ If she’d said he ought to wear a cowbell around his neck he’d have agreed to that, too.

‘Then where’s yours?’

‘My what?’

‘Your engagement ring. Cecily wears one. Your fiancée. Remember? The green-eyed one at Bryn Mawr. Surely you can’t have forgotten?’

The fumes evaporated from Henry’s head. ‘You’ve been asking questions about me?’

‘Never a one and no need to ask either. You forget I spend a couple of hours a day with your uncle. No children of his own so his nieces and nephews have become his pride and joy.’ She gathered her handbag and rose. ‘Thank you for the nightcap. Good night and sweet dreams. Be sure to dream about the right person.’

Henry watched her go with a moody eye.

Maria had been in bed no more than five minutes when a knock came at her cabin door. She called: ‘Come in. It’s not locked.’

Bruno entered and closed the door behind him.

‘It should be locked. What with characters like myself and Henry prowling around–’

‘Henry?’

‘Last seen calling for a double brandy. Looks like a Romeo who’s just found out that he’s been serenading the wrong balcony. Nice chair.’

‘You’ve come to discuss décor at this time of night?’

‘You allocated this room?’

‘Funny question. As a matter of fact, no. There were seven or eight cabins to choose from, the steward, a very nice old boy, offered me my pick. I took this one.’

‘Like the décor, eh?’

‘Why did you come, Bruno?’

‘To say good night, I guess.’ He sat beside her, put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. ‘And to apologize for snapping at you in the restaurant. I’ll explain to you later – when we’re on our way home.’ He rose as abruptly as he had sat down, opened the door, said: ‘Lock it!’ and closed the door behind him. Maria stared at the door in total astonishment.

The Carpentaria was big – close on thirty thousand tons – and had been built primarily as a bulk ore ship capable of immediate conversion into a container vessel. She was also capable of carrying nearly two hundred passengers, though hardly in transatlantic passenger line style. Her two front holds were at the moment taken up by twenty circus train coaches, animal and crew member coaches mainly, while the contents of a dozen others had been unloaded on the quay and carefully stowed away in the holds. The flat-cars were securely clamped on the reinforced foredeck. In Italy they were to be met by a sufficiency of empty coaches and a locomotive powerful enough to haul them across the mountains of central Europe.

At six o’clock on the following evening the Carpentaria , in driving rain and a heavy swell – she was stabilized to reduce roll to a minimum – was seven hours out from New York. Bruno was stretched out on a settee in his cabin – one of the very few rather sumptuous staterooms available on the vessel – when a knock came to the door and a uniformed purser entered. To Bruno’s total lack of surprise he was carrying a thick black brief-case.

He said: ‘Good evening, sir. Were you expecting me?’

‘I was expecting someone. I suppose that’s you.’

‘Thank you, sir. May I?’ He locked the door behind him, turned to Bruno and tapped his case. ‘The paperwork for a modern purser,’ he said sadly, ‘is endless.’

He opened the brief-case, extracted a flat, rectangular metal box, liberally covered with dials and controls, extended an antenna from it, clamped on a pair of earphones and began, slowly, to traverse first the stateroom and then the bathroom, assiduously twirling his controls as he went. He looked like a cross between a mine detector and a water diviner. After about ten minutes he divested himself of his equipment and stowed it away in his brief-case.