The Main chance

39

Arriving at the beach they parked the Audi. Paula rushed out and ran through the open door into Marshal's cottage. She was only inside a short time and ran out to where Tweed was standing about ten feet away from the ramp. `Lavinia's not in the cottage,' she said breathlessly. `The crazy Marshal has taken her aboard.' `Not completely crazy,' Tweed assured her. 'He's coming back in. Didn't like the look of what he saw.'

No wonder, Paula thought as she stared out at Oyster Bay and what lay outside. A fresh storm was churning the sea into mountainous waves which collided with each other, hurling up massive clouds of spray.

The yacht was racing towards the shore as oceanic waves came into the bay as though pursuing the craft. Paula watched its progress, praying the vessel would make it to the ramp. `It does look very like a miniature cruise liner,' she remarked. Her voice changed, she gripped Tweed's arm. 'Oh my Lord – he's going off course, must have been gripped by that underwater current.'

Tweed stared. For a few minutes it was very quiet. Paula had the impression she'd heard another engine, then realized that Marshal had adjusted the throttle in a desperate attempt to change course. He failed to do so. The yacht was heading at speed for Pindle Rock. They stood close together in silence as the forward part of the vessel smashed into Pindle with a breaking sound they clearly heard. The forward section seemed to climb up the craggy rocks, then slowly sink back. They were stunned by the next development.

The rear section split away, became a separate craft as doors opened at what became the prow. At the rear an emergency wheelhouse, enclosed with glass, stood above the forward deck with a rudder projecting from the new stern. `My God!' Paula exclaimed. 'It works.' `Never thought it would,' Tweed agreed.

He focused his binoculars on the elevated wheelhouse. He saw Marshal with his flamboyant blue peaked cap operating the wheel. He saw the amateur skipper slip into a yellow oilskin, pulling the hood down. To see clearly, the skipper had lowered his front window and was being splashed by the wild sea. `He might just make the ramp,' Paula shouted now the wind had risen. `It's possible.' `Be more optimistic,' she snapped. `There's a giant of a wave coming up behind him.' `It might just help him to make the shore. Do be positive,' Paula chided. `There's blood on Pindle Rock,' Tweed warned. `He must have been injured. It was one hell of a crash when the ship hit.' `Possibly.' `You have to be so downbeat?' `I have to be so realistic,' he shot back at her. `I don't see any blood,' she argued, scanning the rock with her binoculars. `Not now A burst of spray just washed it clean.' `You imagined it,' she snapped. `You're tense,' he told her. 'Take a deep breath, slow down.' `I'm never tense,' she snapped again. `I'm ordering you to take a really deep breath. Now!'

She was almost leaning against him. She took a really deep breath, held it, let it go. Salty air filled her lungs. She felt the tension ease out of her. Tweed had been right. `Here it comes,' Tweed said cheerfully.

The strange vessel was being hurled in on the crest of a huge wave, skilfully steered to reach the ramp. The engine was switched off to slow it down. It cruised up the ramp close to them, stopped opposite to where they stood. Paula heaved a sigh of relief.

The skipper climbed down steps from the wheelhouse, stomped stiff-legged across the deck, within ten feet of where they stood, staying on the other side of the hull. With a swift movement of oilskin hood and coat were removed, thrown on the deck. Long black hair draped down to the neck. From under the cast-off oilskin coat the Winchester shotgun appeared, pointed point blank at both of them. `Stay close. Any move and I'll send you both to hell with one blast,' said Lavinia.