Durante The Dog

We kissed again.

+++

When we were shown back into Mr James' office he was alone.

"I considered it better that my clients should not be present," he said.

I didn't comment.

"You and your father own the Harbour Master's bungalow?"

I nodded.

"Would you sell to the Smiths?"

"I can't. We can't." I said bluntly.

"Can you explain that?"

"Yes. Mrs Simkin has a tenancy for life. We wouldn't evict her. Even if she moved out we still couldn't sell. My father owns half of the bungalow; I own the other half but my half is held by a trust. That trust expires when I reach my twenty-fifth birthday or when I marry, whichever comes first. Until then the trustees couldn't and wouldn't agree to a sale."

"And when will you be twenty-five?"

"I'll be twenty-three next month."

"When will you marry Miss Simkin?"

I looked at Emma. She smiled at me.

"We haven't set a date yet. Next year sometime because it will be a big event for the village."

"I see. And when you are married, would you consider selling?"

"No. Apart from Mrs Simkin's tenancy, the bungalow is an integral part of our estate. There is something else your clients haven't considered. It is the Harbour Master's bungalow. The Harbour Master controls and regulates access to the estuary and river. Your clients have been navigating the estuary without the Harbour Master's consent. That is no great crime for a few visits by one vessel but if as they have stated they want to establish a Yacht Station they would need to negotiate with the Harbour Master. They haven't."

"And the Harbour Master is?"

"My father."

"Would he be interested in negotiating a deal for a Yacht Station?"

"What Yacht Station? The proposal is nonsense. Apart from by the Harbour Master's bungalow the estuary isn't navigable by any keeled craft. Even if it were, there is no land access to that quay except by a narrow public footpath. My father owns the land surrounding the Harbour Master's bungalow. Access for the Simkins is by specific consent by prior agreement on each occasion. That access is reserved for Mrs and Miss Simkin only. There is nowhere to build a yacht station; no access for the materials to build it; and no access for any users. As I said. It is nonsense."

"So my clients cannot proceed without the consent of you and your father?"

"They can't," I answered, "and even if we agreed to sell the bungalow, some more land, access and everything else, the Yacht Station idea wouldn't work. The navigation of that estuary is complex and dangerous. Unless, as the Army did during the two World Wars, they spend hundreds of thousands of pounds on repeated dredging no yachtsman in his right mind would use a Yacht Station on that estuary. And why would they? Ten miles up the coast is a perfectly usable facility."

"You suggest I advise my clients to drop the idea, Mr Oliver?"

"I suggest that what they want is NOT a Yacht Station. I don't know what they do want, but it isn't a Yacht Station."

"And whatever they do want, you won't help?"

"No. I won't. Why should I? Mr Fred Smith has been obnoxious to my fiancée. Apart from that the Smiths obviously want to do something other than their stated objective. What it is? I don't know. But the secrecy makes me suspect that it could be harmful to the local community of which Miss Simkin and I are members. I will offer some advice to you personally, Mr James. You might wish to reconsider having the Smiths as your clients. Their associates in our community have considerable criminal records. That association arouses suspicions about the Smiths."

"Can you justify that statement?"

"Like the ownership of the Harbour Master's bungalow, I don't need to. The criminal records of the Smiths' associates are public knowledge. The man they are using to pilot their motor boat in and out of the estuary is on probation now after his latest imprisonment and awaiting trial on several charges. That doesn't endear the Smiths to the locals. I'll say no more except to repeat that you, Mr James, should be careful. My fiancée and I are leaving. We cannot help you. We can't and don't want to help your clients even if we knew what they really wanted."

I stood up. Emma stood up too. We left Mr James' office.

Outside, Emma pulled me to a stop.

"Phew! I'm glad you were there, John. Without you that could have been really unpleasant."

"It wasn't particularly pleasant even with me there. If only we knew what the Smiths are really up to. Why do they want the bungalow? We don't know. Please be careful if you meet the Smiths. Fred will be really angry. I don't think he will do anything to you. Why would he? There's no point now he knows you and your mother don't own the bungalow."

"But you don't sound convinced, John."

"I know. I wish I knew what they are really doing. Is their name really Smith? Why do they go to Amsterdam two or three times a month? We have more questions than answers. I don't like that."

"I remember that you lied to Mr James, John."

"Did I? About what, Emma?"

"You said that the bungalow was an integral part of your family's estate. It wasn't and never had been. Dad was renting from the Coastguards. It had been a Coastguard station in the 19th Century which is why it has a watch tower. After our meeting on Sunday I dug out Dad's old papers. They included his old lease agreement before he was offered the chance to buy. There was also a wayleave agreement with the General Post Office. They have access to the tower and the tower's basement is leased to them. They paid my Dad, and now my Mum, ten pounds a year to keep their equipment in the basement with access at any reasonable time."

"That seems odd. What do the Post Office have there?"

"I think it's about some cables. There are some electrical cabinets in the basement. I let a Post Office engineer go down to the basement about eighteen months ago."

"OK. That doesn't matter. Nor does it matter that I lied to Mr James. It might not have been part of our estate when your Dad was alive. It is now. If your Mum moves into a bungalow in the village we could set up home in the Harbour Master's bungalow."

"It's not a great building," Emma objected.

"But with some money spent on it? A new bathroom and kitchen, a new roof, and an access drive across Dad's land? It could be much better."

"Perhaps. But that's a lot of money, John."

"When I marry you, or when I'm twenty-five, I'll have money, Emma. But we need to find out about the Smiths before we can do much else."

"We can't do anything about them while we're in London. How about a tour of the sights? I'd like to see Buckingham Palace and walk in St James' Park."

"Then we will. Come on Emma. We'll be by St James Park in a quarter of an hour."

We were. We walked through St James' Park, stared through the railings at Buckingham Palace, and stood in Horse Guards looking at the sentries. We walked down Whitehall to the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. We enjoyed being rural hicks looking at the sights of London.

On the drive back home Emma fell asleep in the passenger seat. I took that as her confidence in my driving or was she just tired?

The next day I went into the village to talk to Constable Arkwright about the Smiths again. I told him about Emma and my visit to the solicitors. Constable Arkwright took extensive notes but all he would say is that the police were interested in the Smiths. He wouldn't expand on that.

+++

On Saturday morning I was walking Durante again. Mr Jefferies was working in London and wouldn't be back until the evening. I noticed that the Smiths' motor boat wasn't moored in the estuary. It hadn't been there since Tuesday. Although it is a largish vessel suitable for crossing the North Sea in most weather conditions I wouldn't have thought it would be comfortable as a place for four men to live on. Where did they live? They hadn't got a base in our village. Perhaps they had moored in London on Thursday? I didn't know. It was possible.

The tide wasn't as far out as it had been when I had met Emma with Don. Durante was disappointed that there weren't as many seagulls to chase, but if I threw his ball repeatedly he would be reasonably happy, and exercised. Durante needs long walks every day.

I walked back along the top of the sea wall. As I approached the Harbour Master's bungalow Mrs Simkin called out to me.

"John? Can you come in for a minute, please?" She said as Durante and I came closer. "You can bring that hairy mutt with you. I've got some dog biscuits for him."

Durante never refuses dog biscuits from anyone, not even the Ansons. He has a healthy appetite.

In Mrs Simkin's kitchen she made tea for us while Durante crunched his way through a heap of dog biscuits.

"John, Emma has told me that you and your father own this house..."

I nodded.

"...and you and she are engaged."

I nodded again.

"Congratulations. I've known for a long time that you and Emma would get engaged. I'm pleased you have."

"But?" I prompted. She obviously wanted to say something else.

"If I had owned this house I would have sold it to the Smiths. I was frightened of them and felt that Emma and I were very isolated out here away from the village. Apart from the Smiths, Jem Anson has been telling me I ought to sell."

"Jem? What's he got to do with it?"

"I don't know but he's stopped me several times in the village to tell me I should sell. He hinted of unpleasant things if I didn't sell."

"The Smiths now know that you can't sell," I said. "You don't own the bungalow. Any unpleasantness will probably be directed at me."

"Please thank your father for me," Mrs Simkin continued, "I didn't realise what the Olivers had done when I was injured. I appreciate having somewhere to live that is adapted for me."

"Most of the village helped with that," I said, "even the Ansons."

"The Ansons? What did they do?"

"It was very difficult to get building materials during the war. Although the local builders were willing to adapt this bungalow they couldn't because of lack of material. One of them asked the Ansons. For cash in hand the Ansons produced the needed items. For the time they didn't charge an excessive amount. Whether the stuff fell off the back of a lorry or vanished from London's docks my father didn't know and didn't ask. He was just grateful to have it."

"I hadn't thought that the adaptations had been so difficult."

"Except for the lack of materials, I don't think they were. The footpath to the village was more complex. The gravel surface had to come from a sandbank out at sea. The local fishermen, sorry, fisherwomen at that time, brought a bag of gravel back every time that sandbank was exposed. I understand there was some concern that it wouldn't be ready when you came out of hospital. I think it had been finished two days before you came home. Since then it has been topped up from time to time from a heap by where Emma puts your dustbin. That gravel was delivered by lorry -- the Ansons again for cash -- after midnight."

"I didn't think the Ansons had helped me," Mrs Simkin said.

"They did. But their motive was probably the cash. They'll do anything for money."

"I'll thank Jem next time I see him."

"He'll be surprised, surprised to be thanked, that is."

"But his family helped me. I'd thanked everyone else I thought was involved even if I didn't know just how much your family had done."

"It was mainly my grandfather and Mr Jefferies. I didn't know until Dad told me and Emma."

"So when are you getting married to Emma?"

"We haven't set a date yet. We've only been engaged for a couple of days and we're both worried about the Smiths. We want them out of the way before we think about our future."

"I'm worried about them too. Often I'm alone here when they moor their boat. I'd lock the back door but there isn't a lock."

I looked at the door. There was a latch but no keyhole. Usually that wouldn't matter. No one in the village locks a back door. We all call to each other's back door. The front door is for weddings and funerals.

"I'll see if I can find a lock for it. I'll try the ironmongers next time I'm in town."

"Thank you, John. I would feel safer if I could lock myself in."

We continued talking for a few minutes more until Durante showed signs of impatience. He wanted to continue his walk, or more likely get back to his kitchen and have a sleep.

+++

I hadn't forgotten about the lock but I was busy for the next few weeks and didn't go into town. I should have asked Emma to go to the ironmongers but I thought I might know better what sort of lock to buy. Whenever I was with Emma we had better things to do and talk about.

The Smiths' boat hadn't come back. Emma and I were still worried that they might. We relaxed when the very low tides came. Their boat would have grounded by the bungalow if they were moored there during a low tide.

One Sunday morning I was walking Durante again because Mr Jefferies had stayed in London to attend a friend's funeral on the Saturday. He'd be back later today. Durante had been delighted that there was even more exposed sand to chase seagulls across. I let him rush around for about an hour before I was about to take out my pocket watch. I looked around me. The sandbar across the estuary's mouth was almost dry. It might have a foot of water at the lowest point.

The hard on the opposite bank was also dry, ending before the tide's edge. A boat was tilted over against the hard. I now knew it was Jem Anson's boat. He used it to meet the Smiths before piloting them into the estuary. But he couldn't use it now. It was too heavy to drag down to the water's edge.

I scanned the horizon. There were visible sandbanks out to sea and in the far distance there was a motor boat. I peered as best I could. It looked like the Smiths' boat but they wouldn't be able to get into the estuary for three or four hours, if then. With the tides as they were, they'd need Jem's piloting.

I decided to walk back past the Harbour Master's bungalow and visit Emma and Mrs Simkin. Perhaps I could measure the back door and note what size lock I would need. Durante would appreciate more dog biscuits. I would like to see Emma. I sighed. If only I knew what the Smiths were doing. I pulled out my watch and held it so Durante would see it when he had finished chasing a final group of seagulls. He had been looking back at me several times, knowing his time was nearly up.

Durante came back slowly. He had been enjoying himself but because of the unusually low tide he had run much further than normal. He walked beside me as we went to the sea wall. As we walked along the top I could see that the river was just a trickle between banks of mud. Although some was just flowing over the sand bar, most was accumulating in a pool behind it.

I hadn't put Durante on a lead. Unusually for him he was snuffling along the path as if there was an interesting scent. He may be slightly deaf and too soft-hearted to be a guard dog but he does have a keen sense of smell. He knows when foxes have been around. He stopped, turned and looked as me almost as if to say 'you should smell this'. Of course I couldn't.

As we became close to the bungalow Durante ran ahead of me. That was unusual. Normally he walks a yard or two ahead of me on any path. He turned off the footpath towards the back door of the bungalow, barking furiously. That worried me. I ran after him to see him barking at the back door which as slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

Mrs Simkin was sitting on a heavy chair facing the door. No. She wasn't sitting. She was tied to that chair with rope and had a pillowcase over her head. She was shaking her head vigorously. I pulled the pillowcase off. She had a dishcloth stuffed into her mouth and held in place with a tightly tied scarf. I took out my penknife and cut the scarf's knot before easing the dishcloth out.

"Water," she croaked.

I filled an enamel mug with water from the tap and held it to her mouth. As she sipped I looked at the ropes tying her. They were cutting into her wrists and ankles.

Durante flopped on the floor. His task was done.

"Emma," Mrs Simkin said as I started to untie her. "They've taken Emma."

"Who has?"

"Jem Anson and his brother." She glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. "About twenty minutes ago."

"Why? How?"

I was cutting the ropes around her wrists.

"I saw Jem and his brother walking along the footpath. Jem had his dog with him. I didn't expect to see Jem. He uses the opposite bank almost always to get to his hut and his boat. I went outside and invited them in for a cup of tea."

She pointed at the tea things on the kitchen table.

"I wanted to thank Jem and his family for what they did to help me when I was injured. I thought, since Emma was here with me, that it was a convenient time. I made the tea, we drank it, and we were talking normally until Emma mentioned that she was meeting you this afternoon.

Jem suddenly produced a pistol and pointed it at us. He and his brother tied us up, me to this chair, and Emma standing. They gagged both of us. Jem apologised for what they were doing but he said they had to. The brother went through to the bedroom and came back with some bedding. They pulled the telephone wires out of the socket. Although Emma was already helpless they covered her from head to knees in my largest blanket. They tied it around her before Jem pulled a pillowcase over her head and knotted it."

Now her hands were free she reached for the mug of water and sipped again.

"They hooded me with another pillowcase. I heard them arguing in whispers. They said something about it being too soon. Jem shook me and said he had a message for you, John, and your father. The message is that the Smiths had Emma. You wouldn't see her again unless you sell the bungalow to the Smiths. If you go to the Police, you will never see Emma again. That was it."

"Where's the nearest telephone?" I asked almost to myself. "Mr Jefferies?"

"Here!" Mrs Simkin said sharply. "They may have ripped out that one but it's an extension. The main phone is downstairs in the tower basement for the Post Office engineers. I only have a phone because of them. If we can get downstairs we can use that telephone."

I almost carried her down to the basement. She unlocked the heavy door and we went it. There was a telephone on the desk. I sat her by the desk.

"Ring the police," I said. "I'm going after the Ansons."

"Shall I ring Constable Arkwright?"

"No. Ring 999 for the Police. We probably need the Coastguard as well to stop the Smiths' boat. Have you still got your husband's shotgun?"

"Shotgun? No. I sold it. But his Home Guard rifle is over there. It's a Ross whatever that is. The bullets are in that box."

I grabbed the Ross. It was slightly unfamiliar compared to the SMLE I had been used to from National Service. I loaded a clip.

"Right! I'm going after the Ansons. They can't have taken Emma to the Smiths motor boat. The tide is too low. They must be at Jem's shed waiting for the tide to rise. I'll make sure they cannot use their small boat and try to persuade them to let Emma go. Send the Police to Jem's hut. Tell them I'll be there."

Mrs Simkin nodded.

"When you've called the Police, lock yourself in and don't open unless it's me, or Emma, or you are convinced it is the Police. OK?"

She nodded again. I heard her dialling as I ran up the stairs. I grabbed the axe Emma used for chopping firewood. I gestured for Durante to follow me as I ran out of the bungalow. I ran along the sea wall towards the estuary mouth. If I was right the tide was low enough for me to cross to the other bank easily. Going back to the bridge in the village would take much longer. The slung rifle banged against my back.