old silver flask, reached over and poured it into our mugs.
‘Rum,’ he said. ‘Do you good.’ At that moment, another man entered, black-haired, energetic, a younger version of Acland. ‘This is my boy, Simeon, cox of this boat, the Lady Carter.’
Simeon said, ‘It’s good to see you people in one piece. Makes it worthwhile.’
RNLI crews being unpaid volunteers, I could imagine how he felt. One of the two crew members kneeling beside Dupont fastened an oxygen mask over the Frenchman’s face and looked up. ‘He’s still with us, but it’s not good.’
‘There’s a Navy Sea King helicopter landing at Cold Harbour right about now,’ Simeon Acland said. ‘Take you people to civilization in no time.’
I glanced at Denise, who made a face, so I said, ‘Frankly, it’s been one hell of a day. Our friend Dupont needs a hospital, that’s obvious, but do you think there’s a chance my wife and I could stay overnight?’
Simeon laughed. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. My Dad, here, is publican at the Hanged Man in the village. Usually has a room or two available.’ He turned and saw the very wet bear on the bench beside his father. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s Tarquin,’ Zec Acland said.
A strange expression settled on Simeon’s face. ‘You mean –? Dear God, you weren’t lying, you old bugger. He really existed. All these years, I thought you just made it up.’ He picked Tarquin up and water poured out. ‘He’s soaked.’
‘Not to worry,’ Zec Acland said. ‘He’ll dry out. He’s been wet before.’
It was all very intriguing, and I was just about to take it further when my wife had a severe bout of seasickness, due to swallowing so much water. I followed her example only minutes later, but we were both back to normal by the time we rounded a promontory and saw an inlet on the bay beyond, a wooded valley above.
There was a grey stone manor house in the trees, no more than two or three dozen cottages, a quay, a few fishing boats moored. The Lady Carter eased into the quay, two or three fishermen came forward and caught the thrown lines, the engines stopped and then there was only the quiet, the fog and pouring rain.
In the near distance, we heard a sudden roaring, and Simeon said, ‘That’ll be the helicopter. Better get him up there.’ He nodded at Dupont.
His father said, ‘Good lad. I’ll see to these two. Hot baths in order. Decent dinner.’ He picked up Tarquin.
I said, ‘And an explanation. We’d love that.’
‘You’ll have it,’ he said, ‘I promise you.’
They had Dupont on a stretcher by then, carried him out and we followed.
The whole place had been put together in the mid-eighteenth century by a Sir William Chevely, we were told later, the cottages, harbour, quay, everything. By repute, Chevely had been a smuggler, and the port had been a front for other things. The pub, the Hanged Man, had mullioned windows and timber inserts. It certainly didn’t look Georgian.
Zec took us in and found a motherly sort of woman behind the bar who answered to the name of Betsy and who fussed around Denise immediately, taking her off upstairs. I stayed in the old, beamed bar with Zec and sat in front of the roaring log fire and enjoyed a very large Bushmills Whiskey.
He sat Tarquin on a ledge near the fire. ‘Let him dry natural.’
He took out a tin of cigarettes and selected one. I said, ‘The bear is important to you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded. ‘And to another. More than you’ll ever know.’
‘Tell me.’
He shook his head. ‘Later, when that wife of yours is with us. Quite a girl, that one. Got a few years on you.’
‘Twenty-five,’ I said. ‘But after fifteen years together, we must have got something right.’
‘Take it day by day,’ he said. ‘I learned that in the war. A lot of dying in those days.’
‘Were you in the Navy?’
‘Only for the first year, then they pulled me back to be coxswain of the lifeboat. It was like a full-time occupation in those days. Ships torpedoed, pilots down in the Channel. No, I missed out on the real naval war.’
As I discovered later, this was a totally false impression of a man who had earned the Distinguished Service Medal during his year with the Navy, then the George Cross, the MBE and four gold medals from the RNLI during his extraordinary service to that fine institution.
I said, ‘The sign outside the inn shows a young man hanging upside down suspended by his ankle. That’s a tarot image, isn’t it? I think it means regeneration.’
‘Ah, well, it was Julie Legrande painted that back in the big war. Housekeeper of the manor and ran the pub. We’ve had to have it freshened over the years, but it’s still what Julie painted.’
‘French?’ I asked.
‘Refugee from the Nazis.’ He stood. ‘Time you had a bath too. What business would you be in?’
‘I’m a novelist,’ I said.
‘Would I know you?’ I told him and he laughed. ‘Well, I guess I do. You’ve helped me get through a bad night or two. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Now, if you’ll excuse me …’ He stood and walked out.
I sat there thinking about it. Mystery piled on mystery here. The solution should be interesting.
We had dinner in the corner of the bar – sea bass, new potatoes, and a salad – and shared an ice-cold bottle of Chablis with Zec and Simeon. Denise and I both wore jeans and sweaters provided by the management. There were perhaps eight or more fishermen at the bar, three of them crew members of the lifeboat. The log fire burned brightly, rain rattled against the windows, and Tarquin steamed gently.
‘My dad used to tell me about Tarquin, the flying bear, when I was a kid,’ Simeon said. ‘I always thought it was a fairy story.’
‘So now you’ve finally learned the truth,’ Zec said. ‘You listen to me in future, boy.’ He turned to Denise. ‘Tell me where you got him.’
‘Antique shop in Brighton the other years,’ she said. ‘They told us he’d flown in the Battle of Britain with his owner, but they didn’t have any proof. I was always intrigued by the fact that besides RAF wings, he also wears Royal Flying Corps wings, and that was the First World War.’
‘Yes, well he would,’ Zec said. ‘That’s when he first went to war with the boys’ father.’
There was silence. Denise said carefully, ‘The boys’ father?’
‘A long time ago, 1917 in France, but never mind that right now.’ He nodded to Simeon. ‘Another bottle.’ Simeon went obediently to the bar and Zec said, ‘I last saw Tarquin in 1944. On his way to occupied France. Then all these years later, he turns up on a shelf in an antique shop in Brighton.’
He
