Bond said, ‘Honey, now look here. You know these things. I can’t help it that I live in towns. I’d like to know about your things too. I just haven’t had that sort of life. I know other things instead. Like …’ Bond searched his mind. He couldn’t think of anything as interesting as hers. He finished lamely, ‘Like for instance that this Chinaman is going to be more interested in your visit this time. This time he’s going to try and stop you getting away.’ He paused and added. ‘And me for the matter of that.’
She turned and looked at him with interest. ‘Oh. Why? But then it doesn’t really matter. One just hides during the day and gets away at night. He’s sent dogs after me and even a plane. He hasn’t got me yet.’ She examined Bond with a new interest. ‘Is it you he’s after?’
‘Well, yes,’ admitted Bond. ‘I’m afraid it is. You see we dropped the sail about two miles out so that their radar wouldn’t pick us up. I think the Chinaman may have been expecting a visit from me. Your sail will have been reported and I’d bet anything he’ll think your canoe was mine. I’d better go and wake my friend up and we’ll talk it over. You’ll like him. He’s a Cayman Islander, name of Quarrel.’
The girl said, ‘Well, I’m sorry if …’ the sentence trailed away. Apologies wouldn’t come easy to someone so much on the defensive. ‘But after all I couldn’t know, could I?’ She searched his face.
Bond smiled into the questing blue eyes. He said reassuringly, ‘Of course you couldn’t. It’s just bad luck – bad luck for you too. I don’t suppose he minds too much about a solitary girl who collects shells. You can be sure they’ve had a good look at your footprints and found clues like that’ – he waved at the scattered shells on the beach. ‘But I’m afraid he’d take a different view of me. Now he’ll try and hunt me down with everything he’s got. I’m only afraid he may get you into the net in the process. Anyway,’ Bond grinned reassuringly, ‘we’ll see what Quarrel has to say. You stay here.’
Bond got to his feet. He walked along the promontory and cast about him. Quarrel had hidden himself well. It took Bond five minutes to find him. He was lying in a grassy depression between two big rocks, half covered by a board of grey driftwood. He was still fast asleep, the brown head, stern in sleep, cradled on his forearm. Bond whistled softly and smiled as the eyes sprang wide open like an animal’s. Quarrel saw Bond and scrambled to his feet, almost guiltily. He rubbed his big hands over his face as if he was washing it.
‘Mornin’, cap’n,’ he said. ‘Guess Ah been down deep. Dat China girl come to me.’
Bond smiled. ‘I got something different,’ he said. They sat down and Bond told him about Honeychile Rider and her shells and the fix they were in. ‘And now it’s eleven o’clock,’ Bond added. ‘And we’ve got to make a new plan.’
Quarrel scratched his head. He looked sideways at Bond. ‘Yo don’ plan we jess ditch dis girl?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Ain’t nuttin to do wit we …’ Suddenly he stopped. His head swivelled round and pointed like a dog’s. He held up a hand for silence, listening intently.
Bond held his breath. In the distance, to the eastwards, there was a faint droning.
Quarrel jumped to his feet. ‘Quick, cap’n,’ he said urgently. ‘Dey’s a comin’ . ’
9 | CLOSE SHAVES
Ten minutes later the bay was empty and immaculate. Small waves curled lazily in across the mirrored water inside the reef and flopped exhausted on the dark sand where the mauve shells glittered like shed toenails. The heap of discarded shells had gone and there was no longer any trace of footprints. Quarrel had cut branches of mangrove and had walked backwards sweeping carefully as he went. Where he had swept, the sand was of a different texture from the rest of the beach, but not too different as to be noticed from outside the reef. The girl’s canoe had been pulled deeper among the rocks and covered with seaweed and driftwood.
Quarrel had gone back to the headland. Bond and the girl lay a few feet apart under the bush of sea-grape where Bond had slept, and gazed silently out across the water to the corner of the headland round which the boat would come.
The boat was perhaps a quarter of a mile away. From the slow pulse of the twin diesels Bond guessed that every cranny of the coastline was being searched for signs of them. It sounded a powerful boat. A big cabin cruiser, perhaps. What crew would it have? Who would be in command of the search? Doctor No? Unlikely. He would not trouble himself with this kind of police work.
