Angel's Ransom (3 page)

Blake smiled at Cesar
’s
silent tactfulness when he saw the bag. He went through it for some clue to the girl
’s
address,
and found nothing that would help him return it to her.
But she knew of the cruiser
’s
intended departure, and he
thought she might logically be counted on to reclaim her
property before they sailed. Otherwise he would have to
send it up to
S
û
ret
é
Publique
at the last moment, trusting
to the Principality
’s
efficient police to find her.

The bag contained nothing of apparent importance or great value. He tossed it back on the chart table as a minor
incident of the yacht
’s
sailing.

It was a requirement of the
Angel
’s
owner that the cruiser be always in readiness to put to sea. Freddy Farr was essentially a landsman, unable to understand that more than a
few minutes were necessary to pump 20 tons of fuel and
water and load provisions. Delay made him restless. In the
years that he had been Freddy
’s
skipper, Blake had learned
to keep tanks topped up at all times, freezers filled with
food, stores in good supply. So prepared, he had a 2,500-mile cruising range under his hand, and he often needed it.
Freddy
’s
whim this time, stimulated by a run of bad luck at
the casino on the bluff and the uneasy conviction that the
Belgian baroness
’s
lawyers were closing in on the
Angel
, was to flee bad luck and writs of attachment for parts unknown.
He was, as the newspaper stories implied, perfectly capable
of giving the yacht away, in a drunken moment, to a girl
who pleased him, as the baroness had pleased him until she
had the temerity to try to force delivery of the promised gift.
At that point Freddy felt persecuted.

The
Angel
had already lingered a day or two longer in port than was safe in view of the baroness
’s
announced intention to immobilize it by legal action, but given the choice
of two evils Freddy would
rather lose the yacht than sail
without company. Ashore, he picked up and dropped bosom
companions as he did roulette chips, certain that the supply
would last as long as the fortune he had inherited. At sea,
isolated in the small self-contained world of the cruiser, his
horror of solitude made it necessary for him to surround
himself with cronies who would eat his food, drink his liquor
and keep him company as long as it cost them nothing.
Alcohol and company were the two necessities of Freddy
’s
life, and while both were easy for him to come by in normal
circumstances, company for a sea cruise of indefinite length
to an unannounced destination took time to gather.

From the baggage that had come aboard that morning, Blake guessed that he would have three or four passengers.
But the cruiser would sleep six comfortably, besides her
owner and crew, and he was prepared for a maximum up
until the moment when, shortly before noon, a
fiacre
came
clattering along the Quai du Commerce and turned out on
to the jetty. Freddy,
tasseled
whip in hand, held the reins
on the high driver
’s
seat.

Nearing the
Angel
’s
mooring, he spanked the horses into a
jouncy
trot and brought the carriage wheeling up in style to
where Blake stood at the gangplank.

‘Morning, Sam.’ Freddy saluted sadly with the whip. ‘Got a dime for a cup of coffee?’

‘Cleaned again?’

‘Gutted like a fish. Lost everything but my helpers. Meet the mob.’

Freddy
’s
round face had the lavender tinge it took on when he had been drinking heavily. Otherwise his condition
was not noticeable until he nearly fell from the high driver
’s
seat while using the tassel of his whip to tickle the nose of a
blonde girl asleep in the body of the
fiacre
.

‘Wake up, doll. Meet your genial host, Skipper Blake. This one is Valentina, Sam. She speaks Polish.’

The blonde girl
’s
eyes opened lazily. They were honey-
colored
, and too knowing for her age, which Blake guessed as the middle twenties. She had the smooth, lacquered,
flawless prettiness of a window mannequin.

‘Good morning, Captain.’ Her voice was husky, her English only faintly accented. Blake was uncomfortably
aware that the too-wise, honey-
colored
eyes were taking
his measure. Most of Freddy
’s
girls regarded the
Angel
’s
captain as a kind of glorified gondolier, and paid him no more
attention than was necessary. This one would not be like the
others, he was sure. Except in motivation. That never
varied.

Freddy said, ‘The thing she
’s
using for a pillow is Bruno.’ Valentina
’s
head rested on the shoulder of a good-looking,
olive-skinned young man in evening clothes who snored
gently through a classically handsome nose. ‘Or is it
Beppo
?’

He giggled witlessly.

‘Bruno di Lucca.’ The name was supplied, somewhat snappishly, by a woman sitting on the other side of the
snorer. ‘Please, Freddy. Don’t be giggly at this hour of the
morning. I am Laura di Lucca, Captain. How do you do?’

Blake acknowledged the introduction, wondering only momentarily if she were the handsome Italian
’s
wife or his
mother. They resembled each other too little to be related
by blood. Laura di Lucca was twice her husband
’s
age, well
and expensively
jeweled
, and wore make
-
up that would
have been kinder to her under the shaded lamps of Monte
Carlo
’s
gambling tables than in bright morning sunlight.
She was not happy about Valentina
’s
head on her husband
’s
shoulder, and showed it in the elaborate way she ignored
the blonde girl
’s
existence.

‘This one is George,’ Freddy said. ‘Treat him with respect, Sam. Gentleman of the Press. He
’s
writing me up
as a sympathetic character for the tabloids; Fun-loving
Fred, the Lovable Lush.’

The fourth occupant of the carriage lifted his hand to Blake.

‘
S
aunders,’ he said crisply. ‘Glad to know you, Captain. I’m not one of your passengers. I came this far for the
fresh air.’

George Saunders was in his thirties, bull-necked and going bald, with a homely, pugnacious face that matched
his manner. He looked like a man who would decline to take
orders, or
favors
, from anyone. There was a kind of
belligerence in his reaction to the charge when Freddy
leaned down from the driver
’s
seat to thrust the
tasseled
whip into his hand.

‘If you’re not going to come cruising with us, you can jockey these
oatburners
back to the character who owns
them,’ Freddy said. ‘Don’t pay him anything. Tell him to
put it on my bill.’ He blew a solemn kiss to each of the
horses. ‘Hail and farewell, sweethearts. It
’s
been fun.’

George Saunders said, ‘I’ll deliver them, but the ride is on me.’

Freddy did not hear him. He was climbing unsteadily down from the high seat to offer his doubtful assistance in
helping Valentina from the carriage.

‘Come on, doll,’ he said. ‘I’m pooped. Come meet the
Angel
before I fall over dead.’

Valentina wore a
sheathlike
evening gown that made her descent from the
fiacre
something of a problem but invited
inspection of a truly magnificent body. Blake did not
wonder that she had caught Freddy
’s
eye, nor that Laura di
Lucca was jealous of her. Bruno, yawningly wakened, did
not try to hide his frank admiration of the blonde girl
’s
provocative figure, ignoring his wife completely to follow
Valentina and Freddy aboard the cruiser. It was Blake who
helped Laura di Lucca from the carriage and handed her
along to Cesar, waiting at the head of the gangplank to sort
the guests into their proper cabins.

When they and their host had disappeared from sight, George Saunders said, ‘You’re going to have hair pulling
this trip, Captain. The di Lucca is jealous of her pretty boy.
What
’s
the truth about the baroness? Did Freddy really give her the yacht?’

‘About the same way he gave you the horses.’

‘I wondered how generous he might be in a weak moment. He handed the blonde dish at least half-a-million francs to
throw away at
chemin
de
fer
last night.’

‘He has more.’

‘What
’s
he worth nowadays? In round billions.’

‘I don’t keep the books. I just steer the yacht.’

‘Where are you steering it this trip?’

‘I can’t say.’

The reporter
’s
manner changed. Open truculence was in his voice when he said, ‘I’m a working stiff, Captain. I’m
after a story. I want to give Freddy a sympathetic treatment
if I can, but I don’t have to.’

Blake felt his own hackles rise. He said, ‘If that
’s
a threat, you’re wasting your ammunition. I told you I run his yacht
for him. I’m not his publici
ty man, and I don’t give a soli
tary damn whether you make him look sympathetic or hold
him up as a horrible example. It means nothing to me at all.
Is that clear enough?’

George
’s
lip curled. He said, ‘Pretty independent talk for a sea-going chauffeur.’

‘That
’s
what I am. I can’t tell you where we’re going because I don’t know. I don’t think Freddy knows. We’re
just disappearing from sight, to keep the baroness guessing.’

‘What kind of money does he pay you to help him run
from a woman?’

Instead of angering Blake further, it made him laugh. To have arrived at the point of exchanging insults with a man
he had known only for minutes was ridiculous.

He said, ‘I’m a working stiff, too. I draw a salary to do the job I was hired for. Do you agree with all the editorial
policies of the paper that pays your wages?’

‘I’m a freelance. One of the reasons is because I didn’t agree with editorial policies.’

‘Your ethical standards are higher than mine, then.’

‘They’re higher than most. I like them that way.’ George
climbed to the driver
’s
seat of the
fiacre
and took up the reins. ‘You’re too smart to listen, but I’ll give you a free tip just the
same, Captain. The baroness was an amateur. That blonde
piece you’ve got aboard could snatch the yacht right out from
under you and Freddy before you even knew what was happening. You
may not be drawing a salary from him for long.’

‘You know her well?’

‘I don’t know her at all. I know her type. For a homely guy without much hair, I’ve been around.’

‘I’ll bet you don’t get taken very often by scheming blondes, do you?’ Blake mocked.

‘No,’ George said seriously. ‘I don’t.
Bon voyage
, friend. And you’re never too smart to learn.’

He slapped the backs of the dozing horses with the reins and drove away. Blake stood looking after the
fiacre
until it
turned off the jetty on to the quay, then shrugged his
shoulders and went about t
he business of preparing for de
parture. He thought that if he knew George Saunders better
he would either like him greatly or detest him. He wasn’t
sure which it would be.