Against the Tide (14 page)

‘I don't know. They were here yesterday, parked up the road. They look a bit odd to me. Uncle Fred seemed concerned and spoke to Malita about them. I didn't hear what they said. You don't think there's a connection, do you?'

She looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean? Connection? To what?'

Big mouth again
. Of course, she wouldn't know much about Fred and his politics. It wasn't my place to tell her that my uncle was viewed with great suspicion by the local establishment. He claimed that his mail was steamed open and copied before it was delivered. He also claimed that all calls to and from his telephone were monitored at the exchange. Just how much was his own paranoia and how much was real, I had no idea. I knew I couldn't tell her any of that. ‘Well, there's not much we can do. I can't return the bike then, shame.'

‘Oh, Jack, you're not taking this seriously. I'm worried about them, but I don't know…' she tailed off as the Jaguar approached us again.

This time it slowed and pulled up behind
Boadicea.
The passenger door opened and a tall man eased himself onto the pavement. He left the door open and the driver kept the engine running. The stranger wore a grey three-piece suit with a white shirt and a red and blue striped tie. He doffed his hat towards Rachel and looked at the bike.

His voice was well modulated with no trace of an accent. ‘Nice, very nice. SS 100, isn't it?'

I placed myself between him and Rachel. ‘Yes, it's my uncle's. He's lent it to me.'

‘You're Jack Renouf, aren't you?'

‘How do you know that?'

‘I believe you locals have a saying: “It is a small island.”' He tapped the handlebar. I noticed some beads of sweat on his forehead. He must find it very hot in that suit. ‘Do you know where your uncle is?' It sounded casual enough but there was an undertone in the query.

‘I'm afraid I don't. He wasn't expecting me. He could be anywhere. Is he expecting you?'

‘Oh, yes. He's always expecting us.'

I think he wanted to sound ironic but it came out as a sneer.

‘Always on the lookout for us.'

‘What do you mean? Who are you?'

‘None of your concern, sonny. Sorry to have troubled you.' He doffed his hat again and retreated to the car. The driver muttered something to him. He turned back to me. ‘Do you like puzzles, Jack?'

I found his use of my first name objectionable when he wouldn't tell me his so didn't answer.

‘Well, here's one for you. That bike,
George VII
, you want to find out more about it? Bovington, May 13
^th
1935. Go look that up and then ask your uncle. See if his story matches the real one.' With that, he lowered himself back into the car and sat watching, waiting for us to move, as though they planned to follow, hoping perhaps that I might lead them to my uncle.

Earlier, Beresford had invited me to join him and some of the other prefects for a tour of HMS
Jersey
at six o'clock. His brother was her engineering officer and he'd arranged a private viewing. I hadn't intended on going but now, with these two watchers turning into followers, I thought it might be safer to be in company. They wouldn't think of looking for Red Fred on one of His Majesty's ships.

Ignoring them, I spoke to Rachel. ‘I've been invited to look around our destroyer. Would you like to join me?'

‘That sounds like fun but what's the time? I've got to get Mum and Dad's tea. No, Malita's right. Why should I have to do it all the time? They're quite capable. There'll be a row but I don't care.' She carried out this debate with herself while looking at the car.

Decision made, she walked towards
Boadicea
, swung her leg over the pillion and shuffled her bottom onto the seat. She glanced behind at the Jaguar. ‘Why did he call the bike
George VII
? Didn't you tell me that was her previous name?' She giggled. ‘Did your uncle steal it?'

‘I doubt it but I'll be sure to ask him.' Though that was not top of my list of questions. I told Rachel to hang on then boosted the big bike off the line under full acceleration. We were around the corner before the Jaguar could react.

They caught up with us near the Weighbridge and followed all the way to the end of the Victoria Quay, where I parked up.

I had second thoughts when I saw that Beresford had invited most of the sixth form, including Saul.

‘Are you prepared to meet the animals?'

She swung off the saddle, inspected her face in a wing mirror and rearranged her hair. ‘Do they bite?'

‘Occasionally, but only each other. They'll keep their distance from you – give them something to dream about tonight.'

She smacked my head then had another look in the mirror while I shrugged into my blazer and re-tied my tie.

Saul detached himself and walked towards us. He hugged Rachel and gave me a brief nod. He took her hand and escorted her to Beresford for introductions.

She was soon surrounded by admiring boys and quickly adopted by Beresford's brother.

Most of the crew were ashore so we were able to explore the confined spaces without any wolf whistles from sailors, though Rachel must have been aware of the probing eyes as she climbed up and down the endless companionways.

When we emerged on the open bridge, Beresford senior regaled us with a stream of facts and figures but I was distracted by Saul whispering to Rachel. I also spotted the Jaguar parked near
Boadicea
and looked, but in vain, for the two men.

As we were leaving, Saul sidled up to me. ‘I want to speak to you.'

I wanted to talk with Rachel not him but there was an intensity in his voice I couldn't avoid. ‘Can't it wait?'

‘No, you bastard, it can't.' His raised voice provoked some curious looks amongst the group and Rachel gave a little shudder.

I was about to tell him where to go when she touched my arm. ‘It's alright, Jack, I'll wait for you up there.' She pointed to the pier heads and walked off.

‘Right, Mr Impatient, what's the problem?'

He pulled me aside out of earshot as the group dispersed. ‘You're the problem. What have you done to Rachel?'

‘What do you mean, “done”?'

‘She's not the same. Look at her, she's upset. You've seen her eyes, she's been crying. And don't tell me you don't know why.' He prodded me with a nicotine stained finger, hot breath scalding my face. I stepped back, defensively.

‘It's not what you think –'

‘You don't know what I think. If you've taken advantage of her then I'll –'

‘What? Hit me? Hurt me? You've no idea, Saul. Turf me in the harbour if you wish but there is nothing to be angry about.' I was tempted to tell him about Miko but I wouldn't say anything about Rachel's discovery about her parentage, or our new relationship.

He clenched his fists and, for one moment, I thought he was going to strike me. If he did, I knew I couldn't hit him back. I felt guilty about last night and knew I should have stopped it before we went for that swim but I couldn't change that now. I didn't know what I felt. Even Miko had recognised that.

I stared him down. He wasn't normally aggressive though he could give my father lessons in stubbornness.

Oh shit. I realised that he was the one who was hurting. His two best friends had developed a new intimacy and he was excluded. He must feel awful but what could I do or say to change that? His golden eyes were tinged with red, or was that a trick of the light?

I dropped my head and backed away. ‘I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can say at the moment. Rachel wants to talk to me, now. Please excuse me.'

‘You turd. You spend the entire winter raving about Caroline, bragging about her letters. Every bloody conversation we had was about her even when Rachel was there.' He lowered his voice. ‘You were oblivious to Rachel, showed no feelings, treated her like another boy. Now you jump from Caroline to her like a fucking tom cat.' He walked away.

I watched his retreating back. Had I been that blind? Why did everyone expect so bloody much of me? I was yards from where I'd literally ditched Caroline twenty-four hours before. Apart from the stupidity with the towrope, we hadn't spoken since. If I didn't know what to say to Rachel, I certainly had no idea what to say to Caroline. “Sorry” would sound as pathetic as it had to Miko that morning.

I remembered Rachel was waiting for me. At least someone was.

She was gazing out over Elizabeth Castle. Several yachts were taking advantage of the tide and manoeuvring out of the harbour, calling out their destinations to pier head control as they passed. A few anglers were casting from the edge to the water, twenty feet below. Their silver spinners glittered in the evening sun. It was so peaceful, even the gulls were silent. Her arm was cold to my touch so I took my blazer off and draped it round her shoulders.

‘Did you like the guided tour?'

She mumbled something but kept staring out to sea.

As a boy, I had stood there and imagined Nelson's wooden ships of the line, with their massive cannons slipping through the bay, white sails blossoming in the breeze. Over my shoulder was a metal monster, which could have sunk the entire British, French and Spanish navies in one afternoon without sustaining any damage herself. The world had moved on, science had taken over but, clever though we might be, we were still trapped by the most basic of human emotions.

Apart from the one banal question, I didn't know what to say to her, where to start. I waited, hoping that her brain was better developed in this respect than mine.

‘It's very beautiful. We are so lucky, Jack. We could be in Hungary or Romania or Germany.' She stopped and contemplated the ocean again. ‘I wonder how much longer we have…' she waved her right arm over the bay, ‘before all this is gone.'

‘Don't be silly, this isn't going. This isn't France, the continent. This stretch of water will save us.'

‘I'm not being silly, Jack. I'm just worried, about me, my parents, you, Fred, Malita, and… Saul. I worry about him as well, you know.'

‘And he worries about you. He thinks I've taken advantage of you.'

She looked straight through me. ‘And have you, Jack? Have you?'

Perhaps my hesitation, my desire to find the right words, was answer in itself for she removed my blazer and handed it to me.

‘I have to go now. I'm so tired. I don't want an argument with my… I don't even know the word, Jack. What do I call the people who adopted me?' Her eyes welled up and she brushed past.

‘Rachel, let me take you home.'

‘Thanks, Jack, you've done enough. I can walk. It'll give me time to think.' The fading sun was in her face, casting a long shadow behind her. The butterflies were crashing inside me again.

I gave her five minutes then trudged towards the bike. The Jaguar was gone. I could see Rachel's head as she walked over the hill. I followed, shadowing her, until she turned into Roseville Street. I waited at the junction until she reached her front door. On the way home, I rode past Fred's house. It was still empty. What a miserable day.

15

Wednesday

‘Excuse me, where would I find out about something that happened on 13
^th
May 1935, please?' I'd waited until the woman had finished stamping the cards before asking.

She looked up, disapproval behind her ornate spectacles. ‘Issues this side. Returns that side. Questions at the information desk upstairs.' She reached for another batch of cards and raised her stamp. I was dismissed.

It was the first time I had used the Bibliotheque Publique in the States Building. Compared to the college library, it was massive, even intimidating.

The elderly gentleman upstairs was more helpful, almost friendly. Once he'd discovered that I was looking for something which might have happened in the UK, he directed me to the racks where back issues of the
Evening Post
were stored. ‘Start there and see if there's anything in the national news. Once you've got a lead then you can try the
Telegraph
and
The Times
for the same date. We don't keep any of the others, I'm afraid.'

There was nothing about motorcycles for the 13
^th
May so I tried the next few editions. I was about to give it up as a leg-pull, when I spotted a headline in
The Times
on 20
^th
May. “Lawrence Dead. Fatal End to Cycle Crash.
”

With the help of my new friend, I found another headline from the
Daily Telegraph
of the 22
^nd
May. “Lawrence's Death Crash at 50 to 60 M.P.H. Mystery of a Black Car. Boy Asked to Mount Cycle in Court.” There followed a full report of the inquest.

I found it rather confusing as the rider was named Shaw, as well as Lawrence. I began to piece it together. Shaw or Lawrence had owned a Brough Superior SS 100, similar to Fred's, and had crashed in mysterious circumstances on 13
^th
May. The rider was found unconscious at the scene and taken to hospital. He survived for another six days but died on the 19
^th
. Shaw was the name he used while serving in the RAF but, in reality, he was Thomas Edward Lawrence. If the men in the car were correct, I had been riding the bike that had killed Lawrence of Arabia.

I had so many questions but the answers weren't in the news reports. Indeed, those raised questions of their own, especially about the mysterious black car and the odd facts surrounding the accident. Here was a skilled and very experienced rider who covered thousands of miles a year yet, inexplicably, lost control of his bike on the way home from the post office in Bovington. The reports hinted at some sort of conspiracy and, once I'd read his history, I could see why. This was a man who specialised in swimming against the tide and often succeeded.