pause to light a cigar.
When
the Fox brother was safely out of earshot, Tony asked, "When?"
"Today."
"You
are joking? The place is derelict."
Mark
shook his head. "Took a walk up there this morning. They've put
a static caravan in the courtyard. They'll be living there while they
convert the place into a hotel."
"A
hotel? Jesus wept ... Know anything else about them?"
"Just
that they seemed like ordinary folks." Mark shot Tony Gateman a
troubled look. "Do you think they know?"
Chapter
Ten
"Hello
... Anyone there?"
Henry
Blackwood chuckled. "Come out, come out wherever you are."
No
reply.
Then
he never expected one. Using the single oar at the stern, he sculled
the boat across the ocean toward the bobbing plastic bottle that
marked the position of the next lobster pot.
"You
tell me, girl, if you hear it again."
He
listened himself. The sound, three knocks on the bottom of the hull,
like someone trying to attract Henry Blackwood's attention, did not
repeat itself.
Singing
softly to himself, he hoisted the pot up by its line. As he did so he
talked.
"Beautiful
morning, Suzy. It's going to be a champion summer ... Now .. What
have we got here? Come out, my beauty, and into the box."
Taking
care not to get crimped by the lobster's massive claws, he placed the
creature into his catch-box.
"Seven
already, Suzy ... It looks as if we're going to have a good day ... A
bloody good day ... There you go-"
There
was nothing he liked better. A glass-calm sea, the sun edging up over
the horizon, a milky mist softening the line of the coast. And to
talk to his beloved Suzy. He'd built her with his own hands fifteen
years ago: twenty feet long, she was painted a brilliant white and
resembled an overgrown rowing boat. He imagined even God Almighty
himself couldn't have been more pleased when He stood back to admire
His cosmic handiwork on the Sixth Day.
Suzy
never answered back. Always faithful, always reliable. Suzy carried
him efficiently away from the noise of his household full of teenage
sons who never stopped arguing morning, noon and night, all the way
ten miles down the coast, to where he fished the lobster and crab
grounds.
"Tea
break, Suzy." He sat on the bench seat and pulled out a thermos.
"Mind if I smoke, old girl? Okay... I promise it'll only be the
one."
Smiling,
he poured the tea and lit the cigarette. He relaxed with the gentle
bob of the boat and looked around, enjoying everything in God's
creation. The seagulls scooting low over the water. A formation of
geese flying high overhead.
He
was all alone. No other boats. Not even a glimpse of a distant cargo
ship.
Gradually
the mist began to thin and he could make out the houses down the
coast at Out-Butterwick.
Half
a mile in front of him the lines of the old seafort were taking
shape in the morning sunlight.
It
wasn't always like this, though. The North Sea could be a rough old
bastard. When he left school he worked the trawlers. One winter's day
the boat had simply filled up with water and gone from under his
feet. For twenty hours he hung onto the buoy that marked the
deep-water channels.
When
at last the lifeboat got him back to dry land a news reporter had
gone on and on about Blackwood's superhuman strength; how he'd hung
onto the buoy through a force eight gale that smashed boats into
matchsticks.
Blackwood
had grunted: "Of course you bloody well get strong, pulling in
nets so full of fish that they weigh the same as a family car."
After
that girls he'd never met before would come up to him in pubs and
squeeze his muscular arms and giggle.
"You're
not a silly giggler are you, old girl?" He patted Suzy's
gunwale. "You're worth your weight in gold."
It
happened again.
"Knock
bloody knock-who's there?"
This
time four slow knocks beneath his feet-he even felt the vibration
through his sea-boots.
"Who
do you think it is, Suzy? Mr Neptune? Davy Jones-up from his locker?
Captain Bones looking for his
When
the Fox brother was safely out of earshot, Tony asked, "When?"
"Today."
"You
are joking? The place is derelict."
Mark
shook his head. "Took a walk up there this morning. They've put
a static caravan in the courtyard. They'll be living there while they
convert the place into a hotel."
"A
hotel? Jesus wept ... Know anything else about them?"
"Just
that they seemed like ordinary folks." Mark shot Tony Gateman a
troubled look. "Do you think they know?"
Chapter
Ten
"Hello
... Anyone there?"
Henry
Blackwood chuckled. "Come out, come out wherever you are."
No
reply.
Then
he never expected one. Using the single oar at the stern, he sculled
the boat across the ocean toward the bobbing plastic bottle that
marked the position of the next lobster pot.
"You
tell me, girl, if you hear it again."
He
listened himself. The sound, three knocks on the bottom of the hull,
like someone trying to attract Henry Blackwood's attention, did not
repeat itself.
Singing
softly to himself, he hoisted the pot up by its line. As he did so he
talked.
"Beautiful
morning, Suzy. It's going to be a champion summer ... Now .. What
have we got here? Come out, my beauty, and into the box."
Taking
care not to get crimped by the lobster's massive claws, he placed the
creature into his catch-box.
"Seven
already, Suzy ... It looks as if we're going to have a good day ... A
bloody good day ... There you go-"
There
was nothing he liked better. A glass-calm sea, the sun edging up over
the horizon, a milky mist softening the line of the coast. And to
talk to his beloved Suzy. He'd built her with his own hands fifteen
years ago: twenty feet long, she was painted a brilliant white and
resembled an overgrown rowing boat. He imagined even God Almighty
himself couldn't have been more pleased when He stood back to admire
His cosmic handiwork on the Sixth Day.
Suzy
never answered back. Always faithful, always reliable. Suzy carried
him efficiently away from the noise of his household full of teenage
sons who never stopped arguing morning, noon and night, all the way
ten miles down the coast, to where he fished the lobster and crab
grounds.
"Tea
break, Suzy." He sat on the bench seat and pulled out a thermos.
"Mind if I smoke, old girl? Okay... I promise it'll only be the
one."
Smiling,
he poured the tea and lit the cigarette. He relaxed with the gentle
bob of the boat and looked around, enjoying everything in God's
creation. The seagulls scooting low over the water. A formation of
geese flying high overhead.
He
was all alone. No other boats. Not even a glimpse of a distant cargo
ship.
Gradually
the mist began to thin and he could make out the houses down the
coast at Out-Butterwick.
Half
a mile in front of him the lines of the old seafort were taking
shape in the morning sunlight.
It
wasn't always like this, though. The North Sea could be a rough old
bastard. When he left school he worked the trawlers. One winter's day
the boat had simply filled up with water and gone from under his
feet. For twenty hours he hung onto the buoy that marked the
deep-water channels.
When
at last the lifeboat got him back to dry land a news reporter had
gone on and on about Blackwood's superhuman strength; how he'd hung
onto the buoy through a force eight gale that smashed boats into
matchsticks.
Blackwood
had grunted: "Of course you bloody well get strong, pulling in
nets so full of fish that they weigh the same as a family car."
After
that girls he'd never met before would come up to him in pubs and
squeeze his muscular arms and giggle.
"You're
not a silly giggler are you, old girl?" He patted Suzy's
gunwale. "You're worth your weight in gold."
It
happened again.
"Knock
bloody knock-who's there?"
This
time four slow knocks beneath his feet-he even felt the vibration
through his sea-boots.
"Who
do you think it is, Suzy? Mr Neptune? Davy Jones-up from his locker?
Captain Bones looking for his
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