Black Eye by Neville Steed

Author:Neville Steed
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780297795117
Publisher: Weidenfeld & Nicolson
Published: 1989-12-15T11:52:32.738532+00:00

Ten

Before we left for Burgh Island, I leafed through the telephone book to find the numbers of all the aerodromes and flying clubs I knew of in the vicinity. One by one, I rang them, but, unfortunately, could not raise a reply from over half of them, efficient administration not really being the forte of the flying fraternity. Those that did have the old phone manned, pleaded complete ignorance of anyone with a ginger moustache and lop-sided way of speaking. So having drawn a blank, I resolved to phone the non-repliers again on my return from the Island.

However, our luck was in, as far as our proposed visit was concerned. For the sun was bright and hot enough to crack the hedges when we left — and that meant that our little heiress might well be enticed down to the beach where Tracy and I would have more chance of meeting her accidentally than in the hotel. But all this, of course, assumed that Seagrave would not have got to her first. To find out more about the chance of the latter, I ended my phone calls with one to the hotel garage at Bigbury. To my relief, no red Alvises were reported as having checked in so far that morning, and my spy confirmed that he had not actually spotted an Alvis since our little palm-greasing arrangement. I just hoped Seagrave had not got to his palm first.

As always in good weather, the journey to Burgh Island was a delight, as the road via Kingsbridge, Churstow and Aveton Gifford passes through some of the most charming and serene scenery Devon has to offer; breath-taking glimpses of estuaries and the sea to the left, the dramatic rolling outline of Dartmoor to the right. And us in the middle, windscreen and hood lowered, eating up the miles at a fair rate of knots in Tracy’s SS.

The journey went only too quickly and in seemingly no time, we were parking between a stately Daimler Straight Eight and a real cad’s car, the low and racy Railton Fairmile. I re-greased my contact’s palm, then Tracy and I set out hand in hand across the thin strip of sand that the tide had left exposed between Bigbury and the island.

Quarter way across, Tracy kicked off her shoes and started to pull me towards the gently lapping water. I had no alternative but to follow suit and doff my socks and brogues. For I have a feeling that even the Thin Man would lose a little of his magic if he tried to warn off naive heiresses with his shoes squelching and brimful of the old briny.

Tracy started to trail her hand in the water, then flick some in my direction.

‘Oh Johnny, if only we could forget all about the horrors going on in the world and just be kids again.’

I stopped and looked across at her. She looked stunningly beautiful against the sea’s shimmer, more like some magical seductive water sprite than a child. Though her grin was always that of a mischievous kid.

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