Vanderdecker winced. He hadn’t thought about that side of it—he hadn’t really thought about any side of it, if he was going to be honest with himself, the implications of getting rid of the smell at last. What was going to happen now? In the end, every community and grouping of human beings (except, of course, the Rolling Stones) drifts apart and goes its separate ways. There was nothing to keep them together now, and God knows, they’d all been getting on each other’s nerves. But actually saying “goodbye—goodbye after so many years…”
“Hey,” Sebastian protested, “give it back.”
“Sorry,” Vanderdecker said, and handed the bottle back.
“Some people,” he said. “That’s how we all got into this mess in the first place, remember, you nicking somebody else’s bottle. You’d have thought you’d have learned your lesson.”
“Still,” Vanderdecker said, “it’s been fun, hasn’t it?”
“No,” Sebastian replied. “It’s been lousy.”
“But we’ve had some laughs, haven’t we?” Vanderdecker said. “A few good times along the way.”
“When?”
“Well…” Vanderdecker shrugged. “Forget it,” he said. “What have you done with the cat, by the way?”
“What cat?”
“Montalban’s cat.”
“Oh,” said Sebastian, “that cat. It’s over there, on the life-jackets, having forty winks. I spilt some whisky, and it lapped it up.”
“Fine,” Vanderdecker said. He rubbed his face with both hands, and tried to think of what he should do next. For over four hundred years he had been doing all the thinking, and he was just starting to get a tiny bit tired of it. Another day, new problems, more of the same old rubbish; and Captain Vanderdecker standing on the quarter-deck trying to cope with it, with his usual flair. Let Julius do it—that was what his mother used to say, all those many, many years ago: “Don’t trouble yourself with that, dear; let Julius do it. Julius, put that away and…”
The helicopter had stopped flying and was just whirring, hovering tentatively above the grass. Then, with a rather talentless lurch, it pitched down. Suddenly, Vanderdecker didn’t want to leave; he wanted to stay right here and let someone else do the coping with things for a change. No chance of that.
“Hey, skip.” Not you again, Antonius; go away, I died en route, somewhere in the clouds over Smethwick, go ask Danny Bennett or someone. “Is this where we get out?”
“That’s right,” Vanderdecker said wearily. “Right, lads, show a leg, we’re here. Sebastian, bring the cat.”
“Why do I always have to…” The rest of the complaint was drowned out with noise as the helicopter door opened, and Vanderdecker (lead-from-the-front Vanderdecker) dropped out onto the grass. Perhaps he was just feeling tired, but he forgot to duck and the rotor-blade hit him just below the ear. Danny, who happened to be watching, started to scream, but there was nothing to scream about; the Dutchman staggered, swore loudly in Dutch, rubbed his neck and went on his way.
“Well,” he said to Sebastian, “that’s one thing proved anyway.”
“What?” said Sebastian. “You never look where you’re going.” Vanderdecker laughed mirthlessly, shrugged and walked towards the house. Then he noticed a smallish human figure racing across the grass towards him. He narrowed his brows and wondered what was going on.
“Julius!” said the small human figure, and crashed into him like a dodgem car, jolting him almost as much as the rotor-blade.
“Sorry,” he said automatically, and helped the small figure to its feet. The small figure was Jane, and Jane had wrapped her arms around him. He remembered.
“Hello, Jane,” he said.
“Julius, you’re safe!” Jane gasped; but there was already a tiny note of doubt, an inflection so slight you would need high-quality scientific apparatus or ears like a bat to register it, but there nevertheless.
“I think we should have a quiet talk,” Vanderdecker said, prising her off gently. “There’s just a few things I’ve got to do first, and then…”
“Julius?” The inflection was rather more obvious now. Vanderdecker closed off certain parts of his mind, which were getting in the way, and nodded.
“Won’t be long,” he said. “I’ve just got a couple of things to see to first, then I’m all yours.” There was something in his voice which belied the words he uttered, and Jane let go of him. She felt all hollow, like an egg with its yolk blown out.
“Such as,” Vanderdecker went on, “booting a certain professor up the backside. Did you get the policy?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “I did. Thank you.”
“What for? Oh, I see, yes, well. Where is it now?”
“I gave it to the pilot who brought the Professor back,” Jane said. “He’s going to post it to my father as soon as he gets to…”
“Very sensible.” Vanderdecker said, nodding. “Perhaps you could just phone your father and ask him to send it to my place in Bridport.”
“
“Yes,” Vanderdecker said, “the fallen-down old dump where you said you found all the bank statements. It’ll be safe there.”
