Rum Affair by Dorothy Dunnett

Author:Dorothy Dunnett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Rum Affair
ISBN: 9780755131587
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2012-05-17T16:00:00+00:00

Half an hour later, I was on my way to South Rona on Symphonetta.

First, I had to confess to Hennessy why Tom McIver had confronted me. I let it appear that in visiting my old engineer friend on South Rona, I was merely flouting authority, expressing my scorn of the security clampdown which had interfered with our meeting.

It was a hard sell, but I did it. And in the end, as he began to dwell on the personal perquisites, Hennessy became quite amazingly keen. He had had three hours or so to spend in Portree before catching the tide south. He had had already, due to his early arrival, at least some hours’ sleep. He was willing – in fact, he proposed it – to take me to South Rona, invite my friend on board for a chat and a drink, and bring me speedily back. That bit especially.

I did not mention, while expressing my thanks, that I had no intention of asking Kenneth on board, or that on the contrary this assignation would be strictly for two, and on shore. The way I expressed my thanks, he didn’t notice the omission. Then Rupert joined us, with the Buchanans and the two young men from the checkpoint, who were persuaded to allow Tom McIver to repose in the chip shop until he came to. We said he was drunk. The rolls of notes I left in his pocket.

There were, unfortunately, two built-in snags in this happy arrangement. One I was prepared to endure because of my late Wartski bracelet. The other was the fact that, for all I could prove, Hennessy might be the man who wished to have Kenneth murdered. In which case it was small wonder he was being so cooperative. And how shirty he would be to discover I’d used that same Wartski bracelet to buy Gold-tooth off.

Once aboard Hennessy’s Symphonetta and slipping gently out of Portree harbour, however, I found both problems solved themselves neatly at once. Innocent or guilty, Hennessy did not deviate from form. Outside on the heaving waters of Raasay Sound, while his three white oilskin-coated young men downed sail and put on the engine, Stanley pressed me together and led me masterfully below.

Back to square one. Old man Bizet and boozet again.

I was wrong. But it wasn’t Hennessy’s fault. He hadn’t got the length of nibbling my ear when we were interrupted by someone reporting a chart missing; and five minutes after that a second fellow arrived to ask advice about a slightly choked feed pump.

He had the look of a boy who hadn’t had a square meal for a week, and was out of cigarettes most likely as well. I smiled at him and, saying: “May I?” to Hennessy, offered him one of the silver cigarette boxes before he went. Aided by me, he took half a dozen. Mine I let go out in the ashtray at once. I don’t, of course, smoke.

It wasn’t coincidence. The next to tap on the door had an anxiety about the echo sounder.

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