“Nor me. Good old Dutch name, of course, been in my family for generations. I think it means Elf-beard, which is quite incredibly helpful. Well, too late to do anything about it now, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
There was nothing in particular keeping them in the hall, but neither of them moved. Eventually Jane asked: “So what are you going to do next?”
Vanderdecker raised an eyebrow. “Next?”
“Well, yes, I mean, you aren’t going to stay here drinking with Professor Montalban for the rest of time, now are you?”
Vanderdecker considered. “Probably not,” he said. “On the other hand, I feel like a bit of a holiday.”
“A holiday from what?”
“From whatever I’ve got to do next, I suppose.”
“Look,” Jane said sharply, “you haven’t got to do anything next. Or ever.” But Vanderdecker shook his head.
“It’s not as easy as that,” he said. “I really wish it was, but it isn’t. It’s them.” He nodded his head towards the drawing-room door. Jane stared at him for a moment.
“What, them?” she said. “Johannes and Antonius and Sebastian and…”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“But what have they got to do with it?”
Vanderdecker smiled, but not for the reasons that usually make people smile. “I’m their captain,” he said. “I’m responsible for them.”
Jane stared. “You’re joking,” she said. “I thought you couldn’t stand the sight of each other. I thought that after all those years cooped up on that little ship…”
“Yes,” Vanderdecker replied, “and no. Yes, we get on each other’s nerves to a quite extraordinary extent, and we can’t even relieve the tension with murder or other forms of violence. On the other hand, I’m their captain. I do all the thinking for them. I’ve had to, for the last four centuries. They’ve completely forgotten how to do it for themselves. So, okay, maybe we don’t have to go back on that boring bloody ship ever again; but I can’t leave them. It’d be impossible.”
“Why?”
Vanderdecker was silent for what seemed like an immensely long time, then turned to Jane, looked her in the eye and said, “Habit.”
“I see.”
“Set in our ways,” Vanderdecker amplified. “Old dogs and new tricks.”
“Fine,” Jane replied. “Well, it was very nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
“Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again one day.”
“Bound to,” Vanderdecker said. “Board meetings, that sort of thing. So what are you going to do now?”
Jane shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think I’ll have a holiday too. Only…” Only it won’t be the same, not now. You see, Mr Vanderdecker, this freedom you’ve given me is a fraud. Maybe now I’m free of Mr Gleeson and accountancy and all that horrible nonsense, but I can’t be free of you, not ever. Every man I see in the street, I’ll look twice at him to see if it’s you. But she smiled instead, and left the sentence unfinished.
“Actually,” Vanderdecker said, “I’d had this idea of getting a new ship.”
“What?”
“A new ship,” Vanderdecker repeated. “Only not called the
“You know best,” Jane said. “Well, I think that’s a splendid idea. I really do. Have you put it to them yet?”
“No, not yet. I thought I’d like your opinion first.”
“Yes, you do that,” Jane said. “And now let’s have a drink, shall we?”
They went into the drawing room. The first thing they saw was Professor Montalban, lying on the sofa fast asleep. Snoring.
“Had a drop too much,” Sebastian explained unnecessarily. “Not used to it.”
“Fair enough,” Vanderdecker said. “Now listen, you lot. I’ve been thinking…”
And he explained the idea of the oil-tanker. It was well-received, particularly by Antonius, who had been wondering what was going to happen next. They all had a drink to celebrate. They drank the whisky, the wine, the gin, the brandy, the cherry brandy, the rest of the apple brandy and the sherry. At this point, Danny and the camera crew passed out, leaving Jane, the Flying Dutchman and the crew to drink the vermouth, the Tia Maria, the ouzo, the port, the bourbon, the vodka, the bacardi, the schnapps and the ginger-beer shandy.
“That seems to be the lot,” Vanderdecker said, disappointed. “And not a drop of beer in the whole place.”
“What’s this, Skip?” Antonius asked, holding up a cut-glass decanter. There was no label on it, but it was a pleasant dark golden colour.
“Where did you find that, Antonius?” Vanderdecker asked.
“In this little cabinet thing.”
Vanderdecker sniffed it. “Smells like rum,” he said. “Anyone fancy a drop of rum?”
Everyone, it transpired, fancied a drop of rum. It must have been good rum, because it made them all feel very sleepy.
