Blood at Bay. Sue Rabie
carefully folding the piece of paper and turning to David. He took a quick step forward. “Take it,” he said, holding out the document.
David stared at him.
“Take it! Hide it somewhere.”
David took a step back. “No. It’s unethical.”
“I don’t care if it’s unethical!” Peter said, just as a woman walked into the room. She was an outdoorsy type, dressed in a loose-fitting brown jersey and low boots. Her hair was sensibly short and she wore no make-up or jewellery. She frowned at Peter and David suspiciously. “Mr Roth?” she asked and David nodded. “I’m Ms Prinsloo. I’m afraid we’ll have to delay that second consignment indefinitely.” She was still watching them sceptically, as if she had heard the last sentence of their conversation. “If you come with me, I’ll sort out today’s delivery; then you can go.”
It was as good a dismissal as David had ever heard. He glanced at Peter. The man just stood there, both hands now deep in his trouser pockets. He was looking at David with mistrust, his head tilted at a curious angle.
“Excuse me,” Peter said. “Kathy’s not feeling well. I have to go and check on her.” He kept looking at David as he left the room, his hands still in his pockets.
It was the last time David saw him alive.
CHAPTER FOUR
He was standing in a quiet house, the furniture unfamiliar. The strangeness was due to the deep blue hue around him, as if he were underwater, as if the whole house were submerged.
He tried to take a step forward, only to discover that he was floating, suspended in water. Then he tried to take a breath. He couldn’t. He was choking. Drowning.
“Don’t!” David gasped as he awakened.
He was in his bedroom, half sitting on his bed. The sun was shining through the window. It was half past seven in the morning; the sheets were wrapped around his legs, the pillows on the floor where he must have swept them. Sweat was slick on his face. Not again, he thought. He sank back slowly, closing his eyes and groaning as he lay there. Then he cursed and pushed himself off the bed. He went through to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. The smudges beneath his eyes were worse; his skin was paler, his face gaunt. He tried to remember the nightmare, but the only sensation that remained clear was that of drowning.
Was he going crazy? Was he losing it? No, he had just overdone it the day before.
It had been late when he got home from Dalton. He had parked the Mercedes van in its garage, ignoring the dark glare his neighbour had given him. He had been tired, and all he had wanted to do was get a good night’s sleep. He hadn’t. He had tossed and turned, unable to settle. And then when he had eventually dozed off, the nightmare had returned.
His head ached this morning and there was a fuzzy feeling in his mouth – as if he were suffering from a hangover. Great.
He was just about to get into the shower when the buzzer from downstairs demanded attention. He went through to the lounge and picked up the intercom handset. “Yes?” he asked wearily.
“DHL delivery, sir,” the intercom announced.
David cursed. This early in the morning? “Come up,” he told the man and buzzed the hallway door open.
He barely had a chance to smooth his sleep-tousled hair, when the man was knocking on his door. David opened to the delivery man holding a large DHL envelope and a clipboard.
The man held out the clipboard unceremoniously. “Sign here please, sir.”
David took the clipboard and signed, and then was handed the envelope. “Have a good day,” the man said.
“Thanks,” David replied as the delivery man turned and made for the lift.
David shut the door and opened the envelope: a set of keys and another envelope. He opened the second envelope. It took a few seconds for him to make out what the documents were: deeds to a yacht. Damn. He’d forgotten all about Julian’s favour. The keys must also be for the yacht. He tossed them and the deeds onto the dining-room table and went for a shower.
***
Durban was already busy with morning traffic as he drove the rattling Land Rover down to the Royal Natal Yacht Club. The streets along the esplanade were choked with cars and it took him at least twenty minutes to travel the mere five kilometres from Ridge Road to the Royal Natal.
As David walked from the parking lot with its rows and rows of yachts on one side, he began to appreciate the influence Julian Harper had at the club; somehow he had managed to arrange David’s membership almost overnight. David was sure the Royal Natal Yacht Club didn’t accept new members any old day. He arrived at the club to enquire where Julian’s boat was berthed, only to be asked by a secretary to wait a moment for the commodore. She dialled a number, spoke into the phone and then disconnected.
“If you would follow me, sir?”
She led him through a short passage to a cool lounge with a deck that opened out onto a pleasant garden with chairs and tables, a swimming pool, green lawns, palm trees and brightly flowering hibiscus. There was a magnificent view of the harbour. Several people sat at the chairs and tables having tea or late breakfast. Two children romped in the pool while a woman lounged in the sun nearby. There was a bar set in an alcove against the far wall of the lounge with two men leaning against it. They glanced up as David was led in, and one of them, a middle-aged, balding man, came across to him. He introduced himself as Bernard King. He had a wide smile and a warm handshake.
“Good to have you on board,” he said to David. The man was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved, open-necked shirt. He didn’t look like a commodore – not that David knew what a commodore should look like.
“Thank you,” David replied politely. He peered around the lounge and deck outside, at the nautical pictures on the wall, the flags, the honours boards and the bright upholstery on the cane loungers. “Nice place you have here.”
Bernard grinned broadly. “Thanks to new members such as you.”
David smiled to himself. Of course, Julian must have made a handsome donation to get his membership application noticed.
“Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting to have a look at Sea Scout?”
David stared at him.
“She arrived yesterday from Richards Bay,” Bernard told David as he handed him a small grey disc on a lanyard. “She was sailed in by two idiots who nearly crashed into the Isle of Capri.” David assumed the Isle of Capri was another boat and not an actual island. They left her in a bit of a state I’m afraid.”
David groaned inwardly. Julian had warned him about the neglectful owners, but surely they could have delivered the boat in a reasonably good condition?
“That tag will get you through the security gate at the entrance to the jetty without the guards bothering you.” Bernard pointed to the disk on the lanyard. “And Bobby Baumann asked me to tell you that he’ll meet you today to discuss her refitting.”
“Bobby Baumann?” David asked.
“Contractor,” Bernard explained. “He’s quite good, very reliable. If anyone can sort out your boat in a hurry, it’s him.” David wanted to correct him about the boat, but didn’t have the time. Bernard was already waving him towards the marina. “Go down the middle jetty,” he told David. “She’s the big one at the end.”
In the distance David could see big cargo carriers, container ships, small yachts and ski boats. The port, with all its cranes and warehouses and docks, shimmered in the sharp light. Along the wharf as far as the eye could see was uninterrupted activity with bustling loading and offloading of containers. Closer in to the marina a narrow strip of white in the middle of the harbour revealed a long sandbank. It was low tide.
The small-craft harbour itself consisted of three