Levkas Man by Hammond; Innes

Anyway,’ he added, ‘when we put into Emerald Bay—that’s on Little Comino in the straits between Malta and Gozo—some friends of Mr Borg’s were there in a motor boat, so we were on our own when we got back to the marina.’ He straightened himself up, still staring at the engine. ‘Looks nice, doesn’t it?’ He switched off the light and closed the hatch with obvious reluctance. ‘Mr Borg’s a friend of yours, I take it,’ he said as he led the way back to the saloon. ‘Well, you tell him how grateful I am. That engine, and now a charter we didn’t expect. It’s not often you meet a rich man like that who’ll do a good turn for somebody less fortunate.’
    Unworldly was the way Borg had described him. But it was difficult to believe that anybody could be quite so naïve. It was only when I got him talking about himself that I began to understand. He was an East Londoner, who had spent most of his life as a fitter in the R.A.F. He had married in Cyprus and had then left the Air Force and settled at Great Yarmouth, where he had built up a small engineering business turning out specialized items for the North Sea rigs.
    â€˜But the Government changed, inflation hit us and we lost business to Dutch and Danish firms. If I’d held out until they devalued maybe I’d have been all right—at least I’d have got a better price. As it was, I sold out at about the bottom.’ His broad shoulders moved, a self-deprecating shrug. ‘I’m not much of a business man, but at least the boat was cheap.’
    He had converted her himself in the fish port at Great Yarmouth, and then they had sold their house and sailed south into the Channel. ‘It was marvellous—just ourselves and the sea and foreign ports. Nothing to worry about, only the weather.’
    He was on to his second drink then and he began telling me the story of the voyage out, how they had run into a force 10 gale in the Bay of Biscay. ‘Can you navigate?’ he asked suddenly. ‘By the stars, I mean. Mr Borg said you were an experienced sailor.’ When I said I could, he nodded. ‘I studied it a bit—we’ve got a sextant on board, Reed’s Almanac and all the tables. But I haven’t the patience for that sort of thing. Anyway, we didn’t see the sun for three days …’
    He paused, his head on one side, listening. There was the sound of voices and then footsteps on deck. A moment later a small, bright-eyed woman in orange slacks appeared in the companionway. She stopped when she saw me. ‘Oh, you’ve arrived.’ She came forward quickly and shook my hand. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here.’ She glanced at the glasses and her nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t suppose Bert thought of offering you anything to eat?’
    â€˜I had a meal on the plane,’ I told her.
    â€˜Sure? I could knock you up an omelette very quickly.’
    â€˜Quite sure.’
    She hesitated, her eyes taking me in. She was a good deal younger than her husband, a small, sturdy woman with dark eyes and a very clear olive-brown skin. Her black hair and the oval shape of her face gave her a madonna-like quality. But that was only in repose. She had a volatile personality, and this I learned later stemmed from her mixed parentage—her father had been English, her mother Cypriot. ‘Well, I’ll make some coffee anyway.’ And she disappeared into the galley, which was aft of the saloon on the port side.
    It was over the coffee that she asked me a question I should have been expecting. She wanted to know why I was going to Greece so early in the season. ‘Hardly anybody leaves the marina before May, most of them not until June.’ She was frowning slightly and there were little lines at the corners of her eyes as she stared at me, waiting for an answer.
    Her husband sensed my reluctance. ‘When he goes is his