Partisans by Alistair MacLean

almost irrepressible cheerfulness was never far from the surface.
    â€˜This,’ Carlos said, ‘is Lorraine and Giacomo.’ He introduced Petersen and the other four in turn. Lorraine’s voice was soft and low, in tone and timbre remarkably like that of Sarina: Giacomo’s, predictably, was neither soft nor low and his hand-clasp fearsome except when it came to Sarina: her fingers he took in his finger and thumb and gallantly kissed the back of her hand. Such a gesture from such a man should have appeared both affected and stagey: oddly enough, it did neither. Sarina didn’t seem to think so either. She said nothing, just smiled at him, the first genuine smile Petersen had seen from her: it came as no surprise that her teeth would have been a dentist’s delight or despair, depending upon whether aesthetic or financial considerations were uppermost in his mind.
    â€˜Help yourselves,’ Carlos gestured to the wicker basket. Giacomo, leaving no doubt that he was decisive both as to cast of mind and action, needed no second urging. He poured a glass of Pellegrino for Lorraine, evidence enough that this was not the first time he had met her and that she shared the von Karajans’ aversion towards alcohol, and then half-filled a tumbler with scotch, topping it up with water. He took a seat and beamed around the company.
    â€˜Health to all.’ He raised his brimming glass. ‘And confusion to our enemies.’
    â€˜Any particular enemies?’ Carlos said.
    â€˜It would take too long.’ Giacomo tried to look sad but failed. ‘I have too many.’ He drank deeply to his own toast. ‘You have called us to a conference, Captain Carlos?’
    â€˜Conference, Giacomo? Goodness me, no.’ It didn’t require any great deductive powers, Petersen reflected, to realize that those two had met before and not just that day. ‘Why should I hold a conference? My job is to get you where you’re going and you can’t help me in that. After you land I can’t help you in whatever you’re going to do. Nothing to confer about. As a ferryman, I’m a great believer in introductions. People in your line of business are apt to react over-quickly if, rightly or wrongly, they sense danger in meeting an unknown on a dark deck at night. No such danger now. And there are three things I want to mention briefly.
    â€˜First, accommodation. Lorraine and Giacomo have a cabin each, if you can call something the size of a telephone box a cabin. Only fair. First come, first served. I have two other cabins, one for three, one for two.’ He looked at Michael. ‘You and – yes, Sarina – are brother and sister?’
    â€˜Who told you?’ Michael probably didn’t mean to sound truculent, but his nervous system had suffered from his encounter with Petersen and his friends, and that was the way it came out.
    Carlos lowered his head briefly, looked up and said, not smiling, ‘The good Lord gave me eyes and they say “twins”.’
    â€˜No problem.’ Giacomo bowed towards the embarrassed girl. ‘The young lady will do me the honour of switching cabins with me?’
    She smiled and nodded. ‘You are very kind.’
    â€˜Second. Food. You could eat aboard but I don’t recommend it. Giovanni cooks only under duress and protest. I don’t blame him. He’s our engineer. Everything that comes out of that galley, even the coffee, tastes and smells of oil. There’s a passable café close by – well, barely passable, but they do know me.’ He half-smiled at the two women in turn. ‘It will be a hardship and a sacrifice but I think I’ll join you.
    â€˜Third. You’re free to go ashore whenever you wish, although I can’t imagine why anyone should want to go ashore on a night like this – except, of course, to escape Giovanni’s cooking. There are police patrols but their enthusiasm