The Painted Tent

Bello is a digital only imprint of Pan Macmillan, established to breathe life into previously published classic books.

At Bello we believe in the timeless power of the imagination, of good story, narrative and entertainment and we want to use digital technology to ensure that many more readers can enjoy these books into the future.

We publish in ebook and Print on Demand formats to bring these wonderful books to new audiences.

www.bellobooks.co.uk

• Victor Canning
  
• Dedication
  
• 1. The Duchess Takes a Look Ahead
  
• 2. The Starlight Men
  
• 3. All Kinds of Monkey Business
  
• 4. Two Under Instruction
  
• 5. Some Hard Lessons to Learn
  
• 6. First Steps Towards Freedom
  
• 7. Strangers in the Mist
  
• 8. Spring Courtship
  
• 9. Family and Other Affairs
  
• 10. The Moment of Decision
  
• 11. The Dangerous Days
  
• 12. Envoi
  

Victor Canning was primarily a writer of thrillers, and wrote his many books under the pseudonyms Julian Forest and Alan Gould. Among his immediate contemporaries were Eric Ambler, Alistair Maclean and Hammond Innes.

Canning was a prolific writer throughout his career, which began young: he had sold several short stories by the age of nineteen and his first novel,
Mr Finchley Discovers His England
(1934) was published when he was twenty-three. Canning also wrote for children: his
The Runaways
trilogy was adapted for US children's television.

Canning's later thrillers were darker and more complex than his earlier work and received great critical acclaim.
The Rainbird Pattern
was awarded the CWA Silver Dagger in 1973 and nominated for an Edgar award in 1974.

In 1976
The Rainbird Pattern
was transformed by Alfred Hitchcock into the comic film
The Family Plot
, which was to be Hitchcock's last film. Several of Canning's other novels including
The Golden Salamander
(1949) were also made into films during Canning's lifetime.

For Jack and Molly

Smiler surfaced slowly from a deep and dream-filled sleep. In the few moments before he opened his eyes Smiler had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. His arms and legs ached; there was a crick in his back, and a heavy weight on his lap.

He opened his eyes. Resting on his lap was a large Siamese cat with a torn left ear. Smiler found that he was sitting in the front of a small car. Through the windscreen he could see the slope of a heather-covered hill and a clump of red-berried rowan trees. Beside the road ran a small stream, swirling and cascading over sun-bathed grey boulders and flanked by tall bracken growths. A pair of hooded crows flew out of the trees and a yellow wagtail dipped and bowed on one of the stream boulders.

A shadow fell across the window at his side and a man's voice said cheerfully, ‘Wakey-wakey! Go dip your face in the burn, lad, and then there's a mug of coffee waiting.'

Standing by the door was a large-faced, middle-aged man wearing a battered straw boater with a coloured ribbon around it. He had a black, thickly waxed sergeant-major's moustache that curled into sharp points at each end. His dark eyes held a lazy, good-humoured twinkle.

Memory coming slowly back to him, Smiler said politely, ‘Good morning, Mr Jago.'

‘And a good morning to you, Samuel-Miles.' The man lifted the cat – which Smiler now remembered was called Scampi – from his lap, and went on, ‘Down to the burn with you.'

Stiffly Smiler made his way to the stream, splashed water over his head and face, and then wiped himself on his handkerchief. The water was ice-cold. It brought the colour back to his cheeks, and drove away the fuzziness of the uncomfortable night. He realized now that he must have slept while Mr Jago went on driving through the night. Mr Jago, he thought, looked as fresh as a daisy. And Mr Jimmy Jago, Smiler acknowledged, had been good to him for he had picked him up late on the Fort William road and had helped him to get well away from trouble.

Going back to the car Smiler said to himself – for Smiler was a great one for talking to himself in times of trouble or doubt – ‘You were lucky, Samuel M., that Mr Jago came along.' Although most people called him Smiler he didn't himself much care for the name. He preferred Samuel Miles, or better still, Samuel M., which was what his father called him. At the thought of his father a shadow passed across Smiler's spirits.

At the back of the car, which was a very old four-seater tourer, were set out three small wooden boxes. On one of them was a camping-stove, roaring gently to itself while a saucepan of coffee simmered on top of it.

Mr Jago, opening a tin of sardines for Scampi, looked up and said, ‘Sit yourself down, lad, and take some coffee. No food for us – we'll get breakfast later. But animals is different. If Scampi don't get his regularly, then he'll howl his head off until he does.'

Smiler sat on his box, cradling a mug of hot coffee in his hands, and Mr Jago sat on his box with his mug. Scampi crouched on the grass and ate his sardines from a small saucer. Scampi was far too great an aristocrat to eat anything straight from the can.

Mr Jago sat there, eyeing Smiler, and saw nothing to turn him from an opinion he had formed very soon after he had picked him up the previous night. The lad was in trouble and, more than that, the lad was down in the dumps. Jimmy Jago had no difficulty in recognizing this because he had often been in trouble himself – though not so often down in the dumps. He was a good-looking, healthy, strong boy – somewhere around sixteen years old, Jimmy guessed. Yes, a likely-looking lad, tallish, fair-haired, well-built, with a friendly, heavily freckled, squarish face, and he had a pair of angelic blue eyes which, when he smiled, made him look as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Not that he, Mr Jago, was going to be fooled by that. Boys were boys and trouble clung to them like their shadows – and so it should be because that was what in the end made men of them, good, bad or indifferent.

Mr Jago finished his coffee and, while Smiler was having a second mug, he lit his battered old pipe, tipped his boater back on his head and, giving Smiler a solemn look, suddenly offset by a slow wink, said, ‘Right, lad – catechism time.'

Smiler, puzzled, said, ‘Catechism time?'

Mr Jago grinned, ‘I was well educated, though there's times when I prefer it not to be obvious. Catechism, from the verb to catechize; meaning to instruct or inform by question and answer. I ask the questions – and you answer 'em if you're in the mood. As the Duchess would say, “Trouble shared is trouble spared.”'

‘Who's the Duchess, sir?'

‘We'll come to her later – if necessary. All right, then – catechism. You for it or against it?'

‘Well, I … I don't know, sir.'

‘Let's try it then. Full name?'

‘Samuel Miles, sir.'

‘Ever used any others?'

Smiler hesitated. Because he liked the man and was grateful to him and was naturally truthful anyway, unless it was vital to be otherwise, he said, ‘Now and again, sir.'

‘A fair answer. Would have had to say the same myself. Right, then – age? And don't keep calling me
sir.
'

‘Sixteen in October.'

‘Well, that's only a few days off. Place of birth?'

‘Bristol.'

‘A noble city. Almost as good as Plymouth.'

Smiler grinned. ‘ Is that where you were born?'

‘Thereabouts – so I'm told. But right or wrong, I'm a real Devon man.' As he spoke, his voice was suddenly rich and ripe with a West-Country accent. He went on, ‘Parents?'

Smiler's face clouded. Slowly he said, ‘My mother's dead, sir. A long time ago.'

‘I see. And your father?' Mr Jago saw Smiler's lips tighten and tremble a little, and with rare understanding said quietly, ‘Well, we can leave that one for now. Got any relations in Bristol still?'

Smiler said, ‘Oh, yes. My sister Ethel. She's married to Albert – he's an electrical engineer and plumber. But I don't want to go back to them. Not yet, anyway.'

‘Nobody suggested it, lad. Now then – what put you on the road, all your gear in a rucksack, flagging me down at nine o'clock of night on a lonely Highland road? Trouble, eh?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Police or personal?'

‘Well, a bit of both, really. But I'd rather not –'

‘Of course. We'll skip it, but keep our eyes skinned for the police.' Mr Jago grinned. ‘Splendid body of men, as I should know from long experience. How are you fixed financially?'

‘I'm all right. I was working and made some money.'

‘Like work?'

‘Of course. If it's the right kind.'

‘Fair answer. Well then – that about clears it up. No need for the jury to retire to consider a verdict. It's as plain as the freckled nose on your face that you're a case for the Duchess, so we'd better make tracks for her. Take us a couple of days. Maybe a bit more.'

‘Who's the Duchess, sir?'

Mr Jago leaned back and blew a cloud of smoke into the sunlit air. A big smile creased his face as he twirled one end of his fine moustache. ‘The Duchess, my lad? Well, now … how would I describe her? She's God's gift to anything in trouble. She's directly descended from Mother Ceres. She's got green fingers that could make a pencil sprout leaves if she put it in the ground. She can talk the human language and a lot of others. She's an angel – though she'd need a thirty-foot wingspan to lift her off the ground. She knows the past and the future and has a rare understanding of the present – and she's got a temper like a force nine gale if you get on the wrong side of her!'

‘Crikeys!'

‘Exactly, Samuel. Exactly. And she's what you need to straighten out whatever it is that's bothering you. So let's get going.'

As Mr Jago rose and began to pack up the car Smiler said, ‘Is she really a duchess?'

Mr Jago nodded. ‘She is indeed, lad. The only one of her kind, but not the sort you're thinking of because, if she were, then, I suppose, I would be Lord Jimmy Jago – seeing that I'm her son.'

So, in the company of Jimmy Jago and Scampi, Smiler began the long journey southwards down the length of the country. Sometimes they kept to the main roads and sometimes, when Jimmy obeyed some instinct peculiar to him, they worked their way along side lanes and made detours around the big cities. Sometimes they ate in small cafés or at pull-ups for truck drivers. Sometimes they bought their food and ate under the open sky at the edge of field or wood, and always they slept out with Smiler on the front seat and Jimmy – because of his greater size – in the back, and Scampi – who liked the warmth of a human body – sometimes slept with one or with the other.