own boat, Morrison appeared on deck, followed by Seth. The American paused to light a cigarette. As he came forward, The Bonaventure turned out to the sea exposing her name and port of registration on her stern.
‘Havana?’ he said in surprise. ‘I didn’t know Cuban boats came this far north?’
‘They have to if they want tuna or wahoo,’ Manning said. ‘Since the revolution they’ve had to rely completely on their own boats. No one from the islands would go within a mile of the place. They have a nasty habit of impounding anything they particularly fancy in the name of the re volution.’
‘Do I detect a slight edge of bitterness?’
‘You should. I have a salvage business in Havana. When the fidelistas arrived they took it over along with just about every other foreign-owned firm in town. I only managed to clear the harbour in the Grace Abounding by the skin of my teeth.’
‘You don’t care for friend Castro, then?’
Manning shrugged. ‘He’s smart enough. He had to be to promote an eighty-two-man invasion into a popular revolution, but the cracks are beginning to show. He can’t last much longer.’
‘You mean the Russian affair?’
‘Something a lot more important from his point of view. The guagiros – the dirt farmers. The land was supposed to be parcelled out amongst them. Unfortunately a lot of it’s turned out to be virgin jungle or mountain and scrub. You might say the natives are getting restless.’
‘So maybe you’ll get that salvage business of yours back sooner than you think?’
‘No harm in hoping.’ Manning glanced at his watch. ‘If we move now, we might make Johnstown before dark. You could buy me that drink you promised. Even if we didn’t get you a tuna, the afternoon had its moments.’
‘My pleasure,’ Morrison said.
As he went below, Seth was already winding in the anchor. Manning went into the wheelhouse and started the engines. A moment later, he opened the throttle and turned out into the gulf.
It was late evening when they came into Spanish Cay and the beach was a white line of surf fringed by palm trees etched against a vivid orange sky.
As the Grace Abounding rounded the point into Johnstown harbour, a deep-sea cruiser moved out into the channel and careless laughter drifted across the water, gay and transitory, blending into the darkness with the muted throb of the engine.
Manning reduced speed and took the boat in towards the crumbling stone jetty that formed the east side of the harbour. A tall, handsome black in the uniform of the colonial police sat on the wall and smoked a cigarette. He got to his feet and grabbed the line Seth threw to him.
Manning cut the engines, reached for his old reefer jacket and went out on deck where Morrison waited for him. When they climbed the rusty iron ladder to the jetty, the young policeman was sitting on the wall again.
He smiled, showing firm white teeth. ‘Any luck, Mr Manning?’
Manning shook his head. ‘Not a damned thing, Joe.’ He turned to Morrison. ‘Have you met Sergeant Howard yet? He stands for the Empire in these parts, or what’s left of it. Keeps us all strictly in line.’
Morrison nodded. ‘We ran across each other when I flew in yesterday. How about joining us for a drink, sergeant?’
‘A little too early. Maybe I’ll take you up on it later.’
‘You do that,’ Morrison said and they moved away along the jetty, leaving him talking to Seth.
They could hear the strange, pulsating rhythm of the goombay, the Nassavian version of the calypso, as they turned along the waterfront and approached the Caravel. It faced directly onto the harbour and the terrace at the front was shaded by sea-almond trees.
Originally a cheap waterfront hotel patronized by deep-sea fishermen, sponge divers and others whose source of income was considerably more dubious, the Caravel was haunted during the season by tourists in search of atmosphere. The tariff, along with the amenities, had altered accordingly, but most of the original clientele still frequented the place.
Except for the addition of a small casino, little of the original had been changed. Old-fashioned fans still revolved in the ceiling in preference to air conditioning and the walls contained long, illuminated tanks of tropical fish.
The small dance floor was ringed by tightly packed tables, most of which were already occupied, for in the out-islands it was customary to dine early. A calypso band played on a small dais in one corner beside an archway which was covered by a bead curtain; several couples were dancing.
Manning and Morrison pushed their way through the crowd and the American ordered gin slings. Jimmy Walker was sitting at the end of the bar, a half-empty glass in front of him. He wore an R.A.F. flying jacket with the insignia removed and his old uniform cap was tilted over the young, reckless face.
He grinned at Manning. ‘Saw you anchored off Cat Cay this afternoon. Any luck?’
Manning shook his head. ‘How’s business?’
‘Can’t complain. Brought in a full load from Nassau this afternoon.’
‘How you keep that old Walrus flying I’ll never know,’ Manning said. ‘What about another drink?’
Walker emptied his glass and shook his head. ‘Got to refuel at the wharf, I’m taking some people over to Nassau later on to connect with the midnight flight to Miami. Tell Maria I’m sorry to miss her number.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Manning said gravely.
‘I just bet you will.’ Walker grinned impudently and turned away through the crowd.
Manning offered Morrison a cigarette and the American said, ‘I’m not sure I care for that young man. Too cocky by half.’
‘A little young, that’s all,’ Manning said. ‘He thinks he’s in love.’
‘And isn’t he?’
‘Who knows? He’s at an age when you fall in love with every personable woman you meet.’
‘A phase I’ve never managed to grow out of, I’m happy to say.’ Morrison emptied his glass. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have a bath. What about joining me for dinner later?’
Manning shook his head. ‘Thanks all the same.’
‘Another time perhaps.’ Morrison opened his wallet and laid several banknotes on the bar. ‘A little something on account.’
Manning counted the money and frowned.
